


The Arrangement

by gloriousfaceduck



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, More Sex, Moustache-twirling villain, Pining, Rimming, Romance, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousfaceduck/pseuds/gloriousfaceduck
Summary: All Patrick has to do to save his family from financial ruin is marry Lord Toews, who has his own reasons to seek a marriage of convenience. It's going to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, purely a transaction. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Abby Sharp/Patrick Sharp, Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 38
Kudos: 276
Collections: 1988: Locked In





	The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Sincere thanks to my saintly beta, @mygoldenunicornswears on tumblr, for all her hard work and helping me out so much. I appreciate you. :)
> 
> Thank you too to the mods of the 1988 Quaranthon, for inspiring me to write.
> 
> My beta noted some elements of this story could be seen as dub con or as too violent for some readers. Please contact me (via gloriousfaceduck at gmail dot com or otherwise) should you have any concerns at all before reading. Thank you.

Patrick had never been interested in marriage. He'd never thought he'd get married. But here he was, about to get married whether he liked it or not, hyperventilating on a church porch.

Jackie opens the church door an inch. Through the small gap comes the collective murmur of a very large congregation who expect him very soon to walk through the doorway and up the aisle to his fate. His fate being to marry Lord Jonathan Toews.

Jackie closes the door again, puts her back to it, and grimaces at him. "Sorry."

“It's all right,” Patrick manages to say. “I have to go in there eventually.”

"Stop biting your lip, Patrick," his mother says, adjusting his collar. Jessica sighs and leans against him on his right. Erica pats his other shoulder.

His mother stops fussing with his tie and steps back to take in the full effect. He knew from the mirror at home that the suit he'd borrowed from a friend was neatly pressed and by luck fitted him quite well, that although he'd had to sell his father's watch long ago, its burnished chain gleamed like real gold instead of the brass it was. He patted the pocket that held his father’s wedding ring. He had polished his cheap thin-soled shoes within an inch of their lives until they shone. He'd done his best to make his hair behave. This was as clean and neat and respectable as Patrick could look.

"You look really nice, Patty," Jessie says.

Erica tucks an errant curl behind his ear. "Yes, you do."

"I'm proud of you, son," Donna says. “Proud of what you're willing to do for us.” She reaches out to smooth down the front of Patrick's waistcoat again.

They all stand in silence for a long moment.

"I hope Toews is good to you," Jackie says. "If not, we can put rat poison in his tea."

"Jackie!" Donna says.

"Sorry, mother," Jackie mutters.

Patrick tries to smile.

"Everyone says that Lord Toews is a very nice man," Erica says, patting his shoulder again. She had said so before, when she had researched Toews for a solid week after his letter proposing marriage to Patrick had arrived. Clearly she thought Patrick would find it reassuring to hear the good opinion she had formed of Toews repeated now. She was right, to an extent. "Generous to his staff, thoughtful about his tenants, caring about his broodmares..."

"Well, he'll definitely be nice to me, then," Patrick says. His stomach hurts. He really hopes he isn't going to be sick.

"Oh, Patrick." Erica hugs him around the middle. Patrick appreciates the sympathy but the sudden pressure doesn't really help with the nausea. He clenches his teeth. Jessie's face pales and Jackie blinks hard as though she is trying not to cry.

Donna peels Erica off Patrick. "Don't crumple his suit, darling." 

"It'll be all right. Don't worry," Patrick says, trying to project confidence he was far from feeling. "This is going to be a good thing for our family." He tugs down his jacket where Erica had inadvertently rumpled it a little. He knew he couldn't match Toews for fine clothes or good looks. He does hope at least to look respectable, to avoid shaming his mother and sisters in front of Chicago high society. "Go take your seats. I'll be right behind you." 

With last affectionate pats to his arms and squeezes of his cold hands, his sisters leave him and go to the door, looking back and waiting on their mother.

Donna cups Patrick's face in her hands. "God bless you, Patrick," she says, her voice breaking, and goes up on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. Then she joins her daughters, goes into the church and leaves him on his own.

Patrick takes a long breath, lets it out. He has options. He doesn't actually have to open the door, walk all the way up the aisle, and marry Lord Toews. He could turn on his heel, run out of the churchyard, and make for the hills.

He could run away, but it would mean ruin for his sisters and his mother. They had never been a rich family, and the gambling debts they'd uncovered after his father's death were so huge, there was no hope of ever being free of them, no matter how hard Patrick worked or what he sold off. This marriage is necessary for all of their futures.

Patrick straightens his shoulders and heads into the church.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The long walk up the aisle is a blur. Only when he gets to the chancel and turns to face Toews does Patrick's vision clear. He stares at the knot of Toews's grey silk cravat before dragging his gaze up to meet the eyes of the man he is about to marry. Toews's eyes are kind and his smile’s so bright it makes Patrick feel a little dazzled. Conscious that everybody in the church is watching him, Patrick does his best to smile back; he's not sure he succeeds. Toews takes his hand and they turn to face the priest. The vows pass in a haze. Patrick is glad he gets through them without his voice shaking as he promises himself to Toews until death do them part.

Toews keeps Patrick's hand clasped in his throughout the ceremony, so when he slides his ring on Patrick's finger, the metal surprises him by feeling cold on his skin. It warms up almost immediately in Toews's grasp.

Patrick fumbles with the ring that used to be his father's and nearly drops it before managing to wedge it on Toews's finger. When he gets it all the way on, he sighs in relief and looks up at Toews. Toews smiles again and bends down, brings Patrick's newly decorated hand up to his lips, and presses a kiss to Patrick's knuckles. Behind him, Patrick hears his mother start to sniffle.

The priest finishes the ceremony with the traditional fertility blessing, and then says, "You may kiss your husband."

Toews leans down very slowly -- like a tall tree toppling, Patrick thinks hysterically -- and then his lips are on Patrick's. The kiss is soft and so brief, all that registers with Patrick is that Toews's lips are dry and warm before everyone in the church starts to applaud, and Toews draws back.

The light through the stained-glass windows stabs Patrick’s eyes. The choir begins to sing a hymn in celebration. 

Patrick blinks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Toews's estate is a distance from the city, out in the countryside surrounding Chicago, so the wedding reception is held in a grand hotel near to the church.

There are so many guests that Patrick quickly loses count. A large number who appear to have come down to Chicago from Canada, or maybe even all the way from Europe, converse with Toews in rapid French, so the conversation goes entirely over Patrick's head. He does his best to look like he's paying attention, focusing on keeping a smile on his face. 

By the time he and Toews have greeted and shaken hands with every single one of the hundreds of guests who pass through the receiving line, Patrick's hand actually hurts, his face is stiff from smiling, and his throat is dry.

“That's everyone, I think,” Toews says, and takes, by chance Patrick is sure, Patrick's undamaged hand to lead him to the banquet hall. Toews scoops a champagne flute from a waiter's tray and hands it to Patrick before taking one for himself. Patrick means to sip the champagne. His throat is so parched, he finishes it in a few swallows.

Toews laughs. “Getting married is thirsty work, isn't it? Here, let me get you another.” He retrieves a second glass for Patrick and another for himself.

Thus fortified, Toews takes Patrick's hand again and, matching his long-legged pace to Patrick's, leads him to the top table in the banquet hall. Patrick, very aware that everyone is looking their way, tries to keep his head up and at least not bump into anything or anyone. The hall is tastefully decorated with silk banners, a string quartet is playing what Patrick suspects is Vivaldi on a dais at one end of the enormous room, and lush white flowers garland and scent every table. The guests chatter and laugh as they enter the room and find their seats.

Toews pulls out Patrick's chair himself and makes sure that he's seated comfortably before taking his own seat. Patrick looks to his right where attendants are seating his mother and sisters, who are darting glances at Patrick. He gives them a little wave. They wave back. Whatever happens with him and Toews, at least they're going to get a good meal out of this, hopefully the first of many. Jackie is already making free with the bread basket.

To Toews's left, Toews's brother, who is tall and dark like Toews, although not quite as handsome, and his elegantly-dressed mother are being seated by the waiters. They are casting discreet looks at Patrick as they do. Patrick hasn't had to meet them properly yet, apart from a brief hello in the receiving line, and it looks like they are almost as wary of him as he is of them. He smiles at them politely and to his immense relief, they smile back.

Toews shakes out Patrick's napkin and drapes it over Patrick's lap before attending to his own. The waiters regroup and begin to circulate, carrying silver platters of the first course shoulder-high. Although Patrick hasn't eaten anything all day due to nerves, he doesn't feel hungry at all.

Patrick sits through the meal, pushing his food around his plate and trying to look engaged as various people stream up to their table to congratulate them at more length on their marriage. Patrick is happy to leave most of the talking to Toews, who beams at their guests and chats with all comers, while making sure his and Patrick's champagne flutes stay topped up.

After a while, the champagne's bubbles are starting to disagree with him, so Patrick excuses himself to the bathrooms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He's washing his hands afterwards, trying to avoid looking at his pale face in the mirror, when an older man with a silver bouffant and wearing a green suit comes into the bathroom too.

The man crosses the room directly to Patrick. Patrick doesn't remember seeing him in the receiving line but Patrick greets him out of good manners, even though he's walked right up to an unaccompanied omega.

“Ah, the little omega who has captured our neighbour's heart!” the man says.

“Excuse me?”

The man smiles, showing yellowing teeth, and puts out his hand to shake Patrick's. Patrick's hands are wet so Patrick nods to the man and twists to dry his hands, and then turns back to where the man is still holding out his hand. The man looks mightily displeased to have been kept waiting even for a moment.

Patrick dutifully shakes the man's hand. It's clammy. “I'm Patrick. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister --?”

The man doesn't release Patrick's hand, instead using his grip to drag Patrick right up to his chest. Patrick makes a sound of protest and tries to wrench his hand out of the man's grasp.

“I'm Deane, and I'm very pleased to meet you, little omega.” The man's grip tightens until the bones in Patrick's hand start to creak. This close, Patrick can't avoid the man's breath and it's not a pleasant experience. “I'm sure we are going to be very good friends.” He brings Patrick's hand up to his lips and kisses it, slobbering on it in the process. Patrick thinks it is a revolting accident, but then the man lifts his lips and places another wet kiss on the same spot, his lips and tongue spreading the saliva around in the most repulsive manner.

Patrick's face twists in disgust. “Get off me!” He redoubles his efforts to get away, just as the door is shoved open and Toews bursts into the room.

“Kindly unhand my husband, Deane,” Toews says in a low tone that sends shivers down Patrick's spine. Patrick finally manages to yank his hand out of the man's -- Deane’s -- grip, and step back.

Deane straightens up and inhales. “I simply wished to congratulate your little omega on his very advantageous marriage.” 

Toews narrows his eyes. He clenches his fists and takes a step forward.

Deane says, “I'll just be going back to the banquet.”

“Yes. Go,” Toews says in a voice so rough it sounds more like a growl.

Deane departs the room at a speed surprising for a man of his advancing years.

Patrick sags in relief. He immediately starts the water again and seizes the soap, getting busy removing Deane's slime from his skin. He rinses the muck and bubbles away, and soaps up again, and then again.

Toews comes a little closer. “Are you all right, Patrick?”

“I'm fine.”

“You seem a little shaken.”

Patrick feels tears prickle at the back of his eyes. Perhaps the lack of food is making him emotional. It's not like Mister Deane actually assaulted him. “Mister Deane only kissed my hand but suddenly I feel like I'd like a bath.” Patrick laughs shakily, rinsing his hands now like his life depends on it.

“Entirely understandable. Fortunately, I don’t know Deane well, despite the fact that his estate neighbours ours, but by all accounts, he’s a thoroughly unpleasant individual,” Toews says, and proffers a towel. “If you're feeling up to it, we should go back. The speeches are to start soon.”

The champagne must have had more of an effect than he thought, because Patrick says, “Excellent. I love a good speech,” and then hides a flinch as really that is not the way an omega should speak to an alpha. Any alpha, especially one he's married to.

Toews laughs. “Yes, such a treat. And there's the dancing to look forward to, as well. I warn you now, I'm not much of a dancer. Hopefully we will avoid any untoward property destruction, but I'm not guaranteeing it.”

He sticks out his elbow so Patrick can take his arm and escorts him back to their table.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The track is so smooth that Patrick cannot rely on the usual jolting of a carriage to keep him awake. He’s dozing and only comes to full consciousness when Toews pats his knee to wake him up. “We're nearly home.”

Patrick looks out the window where Toews points. Even with the sun setting, he can see a grand mansion across beautiful gardens. To one side of the mansion, and further away, Patrick can glimpse a stable block, designed in a simpler but similar style to the house. Just the stable block alone is bigger and grander than Patrick's entire old family home before their financial difficulties caused them to sell up and move into the cheapest rented accommodation Patrick could find. Even at this distance and at this late hour, Patrick can see some grooms bustling about, looking after their charges. “If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to see your horses some time, Lord Toews.”

Jonny beams and pats Patrick's knee again. “Soon! And please, call me Jonny.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There’s another receiving line at the front door, made up of Jonny's staff. The staff greet Patrick warmly and seem pleased to see their master, which bodes well, or perhaps they're just being polite.

Jonny escorts Patrick to a large dining room, where a long highly-polished table is set for only two. A small cohort of footmen serve them a light supper. Patrick can’t force himself to eat, so he sticks to sipping the wine. Jonny asks Patrick about his sisters and Patrick asks about Jonny’s brother. The meal isn’t as awkward as Patrick thought it would be.

Afterwards, Jonny takes Patrick’s hand and brings Patrick up to his bedroom. It's part of a massive suite, half the extent of the entire top floor of the house, and has separate dressing rooms and bathrooms for each of them. Just one of the dressing rooms is the size of Patrick's old bedroom. The bed in the main part of the suite is gigantic.

He is going to share this bed with Jonny tonight. Patrick glances at it and looks away. 

The man, Sharp, who Jonny had identified earlier as Patrick's valet, approaches. “Might I suggest, your lordships, that a bath might help the young sir settle in?”

“Good suggestion, Sharpy,” Jonny says.

“Yes, my lord. And if you would be so good as to loosen your grip on your husband, I will see him to the tub,” Sharpy says. He gestures to the table by the fireside, where a full bottle of liquor and two glasses sit beside a vast bowl of fruit. “A nightcap might be in order too, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Take your time, Patrick. I'll leave you in Sharpy's capable hands.” Jonny lets Patrick go with a squeeze to his shoulder, and departs to his own bathroom. Or closet, or dressing room, or secret library for all Patrick knows. There could be an entire regiment hidden in the complex of rooms. 

“Sir, allow me to draw you a bath,” Sharpy says.

Glad of some direction, Patrick nods and follows Sharpy to the bathroom. His own bathroom. It's huge and as luxuriously appointed as the rest of the house, with marble and gilding everywhere he looks. It even has one of the newfangled showers that Patrick has read about, with more shower heads and dials than Patrick would even know what to do with. Perhaps Patrick will need to acquire some form of licence before he can operate it. The claw footed bathtub is enormous. Patrick could probably do the backstroke in it. 

Sharpy starts to fill the tub and helps Patrick undress. Patrick has never since he was a child had someone help him with his clothes before; although it makes him feel shy, refusing the assistance would probably make him look ungrateful or uncouth. And he is not a child now.

Sharpy pours bath salts that smell sweetly of lavender into the water and once Patrick is sitting in the tub, pours water over his head and starts to rub a handful of bubbles through his hair. 

“Thank you, Mister Sharp,” Patrick says, spluttering a little as water and bubbles run down his face. “I can manage from here on.”

“Certainly, sir. Shall I pour you a drink to enjoy while you bathe? It might help you to relax.”

That seems like a great idea. When Patrick nods, Sharpy leaves the room for a while. Patrick grabs the soap and the sponge from the dish by the tub and washes as quickly as he can while he has a modicum of privacy.

Sharpy comes back, bringing Patrick a glass in a metal holder. The liquid in it smells of whiskey and lemon, and it's steaming. “A medicinal hot toddy, sir. It'll do you good.”

Patrick sips it, finding it spiced with clove and heavily sweetened with honey to mask the amount of whiskey in it, and gulps the rest. It warms his stomach pleasantly.

Sharply says nothing but goes and gets Patrick another toddy.

Patrick dispatches the second as fast as the first.

Then there's nothing left to do but to get out of the bath and face Toews. Jonny.

Sharpy dries Patrick's back and hands him a nightshirt. It's a frilly thing, the traditional wedding night garment for an omega. Patrick doesn't like it. He puts it on anyway, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on the front.

“Sir, may I have your permission to speak freely?”

Exasperated with the tiny buttons, Patrick snaps, “Would it make a difference if I said no?”

Sharpy shakes his head. “It's entirely understandable if you're feeling a measure of trepidation, however, if I may say so, Lord Toews is a gentleman. He will treat you well.”

Patrick hopes that Sharpy is right. “Thank you. I’m sorry for snapping at you. Good night.”

“Don’t worry. Good night, my lord.” Sharpy leaves the room. Patrick hears him go down the stairs. It's very possible that he and Jonny are the only two people on this floor of the house right now. Patrick hopes so.

Patrick goes to the door of the bedroom proper and allows himself to press his forehead against the cool wood for just a moment. He knocks, and when he hears Jonny call, “Enter!” he goes into the room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jonny is looking at the fire, and he turns to face Patrick as soon as he hears him enter the room. He's barefoot, he's changed into black silk pajamas covered by a crimson dressing gown, and he looks happy.

Good for him.

Patrick presses his lips together and walks forward to meet Jonny at the fireside. The lace-trimmed hem of the nightshirt froths around his feet as he goes. Patrick tries not to trip over the blasted thing.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, “would you like a drink?” The level of brandy in the bottle on the table beside Jonny has lowered significantly.

“No, thank you.”

Jonny puts a tentative hand on Patrick's arm, sliding it down to take his hand. He raises it and as he presses kisses to Patrick's knuckles and his wedding ring, he asks, “May I kiss you?”

You're already kissing me, Patrick thinks. He says, “Yes.”

Jonny draws him closer. His eyes drop from Patrick's and trace over Patrick's cheek, down to his lips. Jonny leans forward and touches his lips to Patrick’s, soft and light. He draws back and looks at Patrick. When he sees that Patrick's expression hasn't changed, he kisses him again, the smallest bit longer this time.

Jonny draws back, his breath coming faster. He puts his arms around Patrick, hugging him carefully. Guiltily aware he's hiding, Patrick rests his forehead on Jonny's shoulder, sliding his arms around Jonny's narrow waist. Jonny smells so good, sweet and rich and dark like chocolate; Patrick takes in deep lungfuls of his scent. Jonny strokes Patrick's back which feels nice and at any other time would probably be quite soothing. Patrick can't stay in the warmth of Jonny's arms, avoiding the issue, for very much longer.

After what seems like a long time, Jonny loosens his hold, pulling back enough to kiss Patrick again. Jonny draws back enough to get his fingers on Patrick's lips. “Make your mouth a little open, just like this,” Jonny says, as he parts Patrick's lips with a subtle touch of his fingertips.

Patrick blushes. He doesn't even know how to kiss. How could he when Jonny is the first person to kiss him? He’d been working so hard to look after his family since his father died that romance was the last thing he had time or energy for.

Jonny’s mouth moves gently against Patrick's, coaxing Patrick's lips to part a little more. When they do, Jonny makes a soft noise and licks into him. 

Jonny's mouth is hot and flavoured with brandy. He kisses Patrick deep and wet until Patrick's knees are weak and his pulse is fast, and then he kisses him some more, backing him up until the back of his thighs hit the side of the bed.

Jonny tears his mouth away at Patrick's startled sound.

Patrick looks over his shoulder at the vast expanse of the bed. His stomach twists; he quickly looks back at Jonny.

Jonny cups Patrick's face in his hand and strokes his thumb over Patrick's cheekbone. “It's all right, Patrick. We can just go to sleep, if you like. Today’s been a long day.”

It's very tempting to take Jonny up on his offer. Patrick's mother's whispered warning reverberates in his head, about how a marriage must be consummated to be legally binding. Patrick thinks of his family. He needs to be sure.

Patrick gathers his courage and goes up on tiptoe to press a kiss to Jonny's lips.

Jonny kisses him back, kisses him hard, biting his lower lip, and Patrick's head spins.

Jonny kisses Patrick's red cheeks. He goes back to Patrick's mouth, kisses him deep. He pulls Patrick closer and nuzzles his face into the crook of Patrick's neck, placing little stinging kisses in a line down his neck. When he gets to the neckline of Patrick's nightshirt, he nudges it aside with his nose and kisses down further, bending to take Patrick's nipple between his lips.

Patrick clutches at Jonny's shoulders as Jonny's lips and tongue make Patrick's nipple hard, makes Patrick cry out in surprise almost as much as pleasure.

Jonny straightens up. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Jonny leans down again to kiss Patrick's nipple, but huffs impatiently and grasping Patrick by the hips, ignoring Patrick's gasp, lifts him onto the bed. He sets Patrick down with great care, then stands back to rip off and throw aside his clothing. 

Patrick's breath is fast as he takes in the miles of golden skin revealed as Jonny strips. Jonny climbs onto the bed and knee walks up the mattress until he's looming above Patrick. Patrick keeps his eyes on Jonny’s face.

Jonny plants his hands beside Patrick's head on the pillow to support his weight, and leans down to kiss Patrick some more. Patrick does his best to relax back into the bed and parts his lips as he’s just been taught, so Jonny can explore.

Jonny moans into Patrick's mouth as he lowers his body on top of Patrick. His hips grind down as he shoves his face into Patrick's throat, saying something in French into Patrick's overheated skin.

“What did you say?” Patrick whispers.

Jonny looks up. His eyes are so dilated that the pupils are almost completely black.

“Mon rêve, mon Patrick --” Then his mouth is on Patrick's again, stealing Patrick's breath.

Patrick clenches his hands on the smooth muscle of Jonny's back as Jonny bites at his Adam's apple, his collar bones, his nipple. Little darts of lightning run through Patrick anywhere Jonny's lips and teeth touch and make Patrick squirm.

Jonny tries to pull aside the neckline of the nightshirt. He can't get it open enough to suit him. He sucks at one of Patrick's nipples and tries to get his mouth over to the other, but the material thwarts him. He growls in the back of his throat, yanks at the fabric, fumbles as he tries to undo the little pearl buttons down the front. He gives up and grabs the hem where it's ridden up to Patrick's knees and simply shoves it up further.

Patrick's face burns when his body is bared to Jonny's eyes. “Wait --” He tries frantically to shove the hem down again but Jonny groans eagerly and drops down on him, taking Patrick's cock in his hot wet mouth. Patrick whimpers at the sharp suction. It’s too intense. He tries to wriggle back but Jonny's fingers grip his hip bones and hold him still as Jonny sucks him, his cheeks hollowing.

“Wait, Jonny --” Patrick says, pushing at Jonny's head to get him to ease off.

Jonny growls again and the vibration around the head of his cock makes Patrick sob.

“Jonny, wait a minute --”

Jonny pulls his mouth off Patrick's cock and Patrick has all of one second to breathe, before Jonny flips him on his belly.

“Jonny!” 

Jonny pants against the back of Patrick’s neck. “Do you need me to stop?”

Patrick hesitates.

Jonny kisses Patrick’s mating gland, making honeyed pleasure ripple all over Patrick’s skin.

Patrick moans, “No, don’t stop.”

Jonny makes a triumphant noise. He fastens his mouth over Patrick’s mating gland and sucks on it. The suction makes every inch of Patrick’s skin tingle. Jonny doesn’t bite down as Patrick has been taught to expect.

The back of the nightshirt is still clinging on down around his knees. Jonny pushes it up to Patrick's waist and the next thing Patrick knows, Jonny is shouldering Patrick's legs apart. Patrick pants into the pillows and tries to prepare to be mounted for the first time. All he knows from schoolyard gossip is that he should relax as much as possible, stay as still as possible, and resign himself to it hurting. But he doesn't feel Jonny's cock pressing into him. Instead he feels Jonny's hot breath on the skin of his backside, then his lips pressing a kiss to one cheek, then the other. What is Jonny doing? 

What Jonny is doing is rubbing his face across Patrick's ass like a cat nuzzling a kitten of whom she is particularly fond. Patrick feels Jonny's stubble brush scratchily across his skin and gasps. Jonny chuckles, then his big warm hands grip Patrick's ass and part him. He feels Jonny kiss the skin of his lower back as though apologising for the scratchy tickle of his sensitive skin, and then kiss lower down. And even lower.

Patrick presses his face into the pillow to stifle his choking noises as Jonny's wet tongue touches him intimately. He never expected this. Is this even _allowed?_ Jonny licks carefully in a circle and then swirls around as though Patrick is some kind of treat that needs to be licked slowly and enjoyed. Patrick tries to move his hips back towards Jonny to get more of this feeling as nerve endings he didn't even know he had spark and flare. Jonny's fingers clamp tightly on Patrick's hips to keep him still as his tongue slides deeper. 

Patrick's fingertips curl into the bedlinen. He groans Jonny's name every time Jonny slides the tip of his tongue out and then in again. Patrick buries his whimpers in the pillow. Every time Jonny pushes his tongue in, the tip of Patrick's cock rubs against the bed, unbearably sensitive. Jonny makes a hungry noise and bites at Patrick's wet skin. He pushes his tongue in hard and deep, then rubs it forcefully around Patrick's rim. Patrick can feel Jonny's saliva dripping down and his hot breath scorching Patrick's wet flesh. Patrick doesn't even know what he's asking for, but the cries he can't quite muffle in the pillow definitely sound like pleading to his own ears.

Jonny takes his lips away and sits back. He must be looking right at Patrick, spread open and wet from Jonny's mouth. Patrick doesn't move, keeping his face hidden in the pillow.

For a moment, nothing happens. Has Jonny changed his mind? Is he repulsed by the shameless way Patrick has behaved? The only sound in Patrick's ears is the pounding of his own heart.

Patrick reaches for the nightshirt and is starting to drag it down to cover himself when Jonny snatches it out of his hand and pushes it back up again. Patrick feels something hot and smooth press against him where Jonny's mouth had just been. For a second, he thinks it's Jonny's fingertip but it can't be, it's so much bigger. Jonny slings an arm around Patrick's hips, pulling Patrick back against the pressure and then it breaches him, pushing in. Patrick can't help his hoarse cry as Jonny slides into him, slow but relentless, until Patrick can feel Jonny's hips pressed tight against him. Jonny is all the way inside him. It _burns._

Above him, Jonny is groaning something hoarsely in French. Patrick has no idea what he's saying but he sounds desperate. Jonny's holding absolutely still, and Patrick can feel his rim flutter around Jonny's huge cock, spreading him so wide. He pants open mouthed into the pillow, face flaming at how much he likes it despite it hurting.

Jonny pulls slowly out and pushes back in as he moans, long and loud. He does it again and Patrick can't move in his grip, can only take it.

Patrick is biting his lip to keep the sounds in.

Jonny keeps pushing in and pulling out, his arm an iron band around Patrick's hips, creating a rhythm that makes Patrick's body tingle with pleasure, even despite the soreness. He’d softened when Jonny thrust into him, but now he's starting to get hard again. Jonny's arm releases Patrick's hips and instead both his hands clamp hard on Patrick's hips. Each time he thrusts in again, he wrenches Patrick's pelvis back so the force of each thrust is doubled.

Patrick groans at the depth of the penetration. The shock of Jonny slamming in makes Patrick's knees slip wider on the bed, changing the angle. Suddenly Jonny's every thrust makes the swollen tip of his cock stroke over a place inside Patrick that forces a gasp of helpless pleasure out of Patrick's throat. A dozen more hard thrusts, and Patrick tips his head back, spine curling with the strength of it, and makes a guttural sound as he comes into the crumpled sheets beneath him.

Behind him, Jonny shouts and grinds deep inside him one last time. Patrick's sensitive insides feel stinging as Jonny comes in him.

For a few seconds, they are motionless, still locked together. Patrick is trembling. Strangely, he can feel Jonny trembling too. Then Jonny collapses on top of Patrick, crushing him flat to the bed.

For a long while, there's nothing except their mingled rough breathing.

Jonny's heavy weight on Patrick makes keeping his face in the pillow a non-starter. Air is starting to be an issue. Patrick turns his face so he can continue breathing. Jonny is totally limp on top of him, maybe even passed out. Patrick twists his shoulders and hips to see if it makes Jonny move, but he doesn't react at all.

For a man so lean, Jonny is really astoundingly heavy. Patrick gets his elbows under him with some difficulty and boosts himself up, enough that Jonny's weight gradually shifts to one side and he slides out of and off of Patrick.

Patrick winces as Jonny's softening cock slips out of him. After a minute of just lying there enjoying the sensation of not being crushed flat, he rolls onto his back. He stretches out his cramped arms and legs, shifting his hips experimentally to see if there's any damage. He's quite a bit sore but that seems to be all. He pulls down his rumpled nightshirt, although it's a bit late for modesty at this stage, and flops his head over to look at Jonny.

Jonny's out cold, his long dark eyelashes casting shadows on his unguarded face.

Patrick doesn't really know what to think. He had anticipated a clinical act but the whole experience reminded him much more of trying to stay on a bolting horse. At least their marriage was now set in stone. And it wasn't quite as painful as he was taught to expect losing his virginity would be, as he was taught to dread -- so that was a bonus. Patrick looks down the length of Jonny's body to his cock. Even soft now, it's still massive. No wonder it had hurt.

It's hard to tell Jonny’s opinion of events from his current state of unconsciousness.

Jonny starts to snore.

Patrick sits up -- yes, quite a considerable degree of soreness, but no pain -- and eases himself out of bed. He makes his slow way over on shaking knees to the fireside table and steals an apple from the bowl. As he bites into the apple, he can feel evidence of Jonny’s possession start to trickle down his inner thighs. Should he go and bathe again?

He eats the apple, enjoying the sweet juiciness of it. He tosses the core into the fire. There’ll be time in the morning to take a bath.

He climbs back into the bed, hauling up the bed covers, and arranging them over Jonny and himself. Jonny rolls over in his sleep, draping his arm over Patrick and pulling him against his body.

Patrick closes his eyes, and doesn’t have to wait long for sleep to come.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Patrick wakes up slowly. Before he even opens his eyes, he's aware that he's in a strange bed and that he is alone. All the events of the night before come flooding back, how he behaved. He's debating pulling the covers over his head and going back to sleep, when there's a quiet tap at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Sharpy, who is covering his eyes with his hand. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, I’m decent. I'm still in bed.”

“I've come to draw your bath.” Sharpy goes into the bathroom to suit word to action and then reappears, giving Patrick a long assessing look. “I'm glad to see you survived the night.” Sharpy raises an eyebrow inquiringly.

Patrick is speechless. If Sharpy expects comments, Patrick is not going to provide them. What can he say? Last night was a bit of an embarrassing disaster and he's not surprised Jonny is not around. “Do you know where Jonny is?”

“He's out at exercise with the horses, I think. He usually is at this hour. He'll be back later to have breakfast with you and then he plans to take you on a tour of the estate. No rest for the wicked.” Sharpy rips back the bed covers, making Patrick squeak. “You have a meeting yourself. The doctor is here to see you.”

“The doctor?”

“Yes, naturally. It's standard practice to have the consummation certified by a medical professional.”

Patrick stares at him.

“Don't worry. I know Doctor Crosby personally. He looks after us all here at Jonny's estate, including my wife and daughter. He's an excellent doctor and a kind man.”

Patrick doesn't feel particularly comforted by this opinion, and it must be that his face shows this, because Sharpy continues, “I can assure you, my lord, you have nothing to fear.”

Patrick doesn't particularly believe him but this examination can hardly be worse than the mortifying events of the night before. Best to get it over with. He sits up carefully, clamping his teeth together so he doesn't make any humiliating noises, and starts to get out of bed. “I'll see him as soon as I've had a bath.”

“Ah,” Sharpy says. He fixes his gaze respectfully on the ceiling. “Without wishing to be indelicate, sir, in the circumstances it would be advisable to see the doctor before you bathe.”

Wonderful.

Sharpy enswathes Patrick in a dressing gown so huge it must be one of Jonny's, and places bedroom slippers before him for him to step into. Patrick ties the dressing gown belt tightly, then feels foolish for doing so, as he's probably going to have to strip in a minute. He swallows.

“All right, please see the doctor in.”

The doctor is a dark-haired good-looking alpha who greets Sharpy with a grin and a friendly punch on the arm. When he turns to Patrick, though, his smile has a sympathetic gentleness to it. “Pleased to meet you, your lordship.”

Patrick is not looking forward to this, so he can't really say the same in the circumstances.

“I'm here to certify the union and complete the formalities of the paperwork, and then I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the day, your lordship.”

“Please call me Patrick.”

“Thank you. Please do call me Sidney.”

They smile at each other. Sidney turns to Sharpy. “Thank you, my good man. You can give us some privacy now.”

Sharpy startles and exits the room, muttering an apology as he goes.

Sidney waits for the door to close before he rolls his eyes. “He's a good sort, Sharpy, but he's terribly inquisitive. He doesn’t even realise how inquisitive he is.”

“Quite.”

Sidney takes a deep breath. “To business. In order to certify that your marriage to Lord Toews has been consummated, I will need to carry out a brief examination, if that is acceptable?”

Patrick nods, biting his lip. It's not like he really has a choice.

Sidney has a compassionate look on his face. “Would you please turn your back to me and raise the hem of your garments to your waist?”

Patrick complies, feeling his face heat as he bares his skin. The fabric sticks a little to the dried fluids on his skin.

“Bend forward a little, if you would,” Sidney says, “and if you'd forgive the intrusion, please place your feet a little further apart.”

Patrick does as Sidney asks.

“Ah,” Sidney says, “that is sufficient. Please replace your clothing. Thank you, and may I ask you to join me over here?” 

Patrick drops his clothing back into place, turning in time to see Sidney indicate the armchairs by the window. They sit, Patrick rather carefully.

“Patrick, a visual examination was more than adequate to ascertain the facts, without necessitating a physical examination.”

Thank heavens.

“From the presence and location of the abrasions and --” Sidney coughs discreetly “-- other evidence, it's clear that you and Lord Toews did consummate your marriage last night.”

“Yes, we did.”

“While this can be a joyful occasion for a newly wedded couple, it can also be a physically challenging one.” Sidney places two bottles on the table between them. “This bottle, the blue one, contains a salve that you may wish to apply to the affected area following your bath. Apply it sparingly. It'll speed healing and provide pain relief.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you feel that you might require pain relief for the internal... area?”

“No, thank you. It's not so bad.”

“Judging from your ease of movement, I hoped so. Excellent. If I might speak frankly, the second bottle, the clear one, contains a liquid salve which can aid when an omega and an alpha choose to have marital relations outside of heat.”

“That's good to know,” Patrick says, going hot and cold with embarrassment. It would certainly have helped last night. All the same, he hopes Jonny won’t want to take him again this evening. He needs a little time.

“Normally, as you know, the biting of the mating gland and the bonding that follows triggers physical changes in the omega that smooth things over, however everyone’s different. This salve may be of assistance. Forgive my plain speaking.”

“It's fine. I appreciate your forthrightness.”

“Please let me know if or when you would like refills on any of these medications, or if you ever have any concerns. Do you have any questions or queries at the moment?”

Patrick does not.

Sidney says, “Then all that remains is to wish you and Lord Toews well. I'll deposit the certificate in Lord Toews's office, and I'll take my leave. Good day to you, Patrick.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick bathes and dresses with Sharpy waiting on him hand and foot. Having never had servants before, apart from kitchen maids when he was a small child and his parents still had money, Patrick finds it quite unnerving.

When he disrobes for his bath, he sees Sharpy's eyes catch on the blackening bruises on Patrick's hips. He's grateful that Sharpy, while he looks grim, says nothing. He does appreciate Sharpy's patience and consideration, not to mention his careful hand with a straight razor. Patrick would’ve probably preferred a few quiet moments alone in the bath to compose himself before his first day as a married man. It was not to be.

At least Sharpy leaves him in peace to apply the ointment Sidney provided. It does help.

Eventually Sharpy returns to bank the fire and starts to bundle up the linens for the laundry. Patrick tries not to blush at the thought of what the laundry staff might think of the state of the sheets.

There doesn't seem to be anything that Patrick can usefully do. It feels strange to have free time when until recently all his waking hours were a scramble to make ends meet. Patrick hardly knows what to do with himself. He decides to take the opportunity to explore the house while he's alone. He wanders the long corridors, finding the gallery and admiring the lengthy procession of portraits of darkly handsome Toews men, their glowering uncontained by their gilded frames. If nothing else, they're consistent.

The portraits of the Toews men alternate with an equal number of portraits of fine Toews ladies in lush gowns. Try as he might, Patrick can't find a portrait of any omega. Perhaps he is the first omega to marry into the Toews family? It's not hard to believe, as Patrick is the first omega to be born into his own family and is the only omega he knows. He was well aware when he accepted Jonny's proposal that as an omega, his value lay in his rarity and purity. Or it might be more likely that there have been omegas in the Toews family before, but they were not deemed worthy of being recorded in portraiture.

Patrick goes slowly down the cantilevered main staircase in search of breakfast. He follows his nose to the door of what is probably the breakfast room, passing a room with its door ajar on the way. He halts abruptly when he hears Jonny's voice from behind it.

“So there's no way to end it?” Jonny is saying.

“No, not now I've certified the consummation. All is in order,” Sidney says.

“There's no legal basis for dissolution of your marriage, my lord,” another voice, that of an older man, says. “I assure you, it is now indissoluble.”

Patrick doesn't hear what is said after that as he bolts into the breakfast room, face flaming. Having his posterior inspected by a doctor, even a doctor as kind as Sidney, was embarrassing enough, but knowing that Jonny is consulting his lawyer to see about a divorce the very morning after their wedding is... Patrick can't think through the roaring in his head. He drops into the nearest chair at the breakfast table and tries to regulate his breathing.

After a while, the footmen approach him tentatively and ask him a question or two, but it's as though he hears them through a storm. He sees their lips move, sees their worried glances at each other when he doesn't respond, but can't form words.

He sits and he breathes and he tries to grasp this new information.

What should he do, if Jonny wants to be rid of him? Had he displeased Jonny so much last night?

What will happen to his mother, to his sisters?

This marriage was their lifeline and now --

Patrick hears voices in the hall, probably Sidney and the older man leaving. Jonny comes into the room. He sees Patrick and a hesitant smile brightens his face. It makes something in Patrick's chest ache.

Jonny hurries to Patrick's side, but when Patrick looks up at him, he frowns. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

Patrick tries to say something.

Jonny turns to one of the footmen. “Go get Doctor Crosby. He's just left. Catch him.”

“No!” Patrick says. “There's no need. Thank you. I'm fine.”

Jonny puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Patrick licks his lips. “I'm fine.”

Jonny sits down beside Patrick, rather than where Patrick expected him to sit at the head of the table. “If you're certain --”

“Yes, I'm in earnest.” Patrick ducks his head. “Thank you, my lord.”

Jonny squeezes Patrick's shoulder. “None of that, please, Patrick. We did agree you'd call me Jonny.”

Patrick swallows. “Jonny. Of course.”

Jonny releases Patrick's shoulder, gesturing at the footmen to serve breakfast.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After Jonny finishes a breakfast consisting mostly of coffee, and Patrick finishes staring at his plate unable to eat breakfast, Jonny says, “We should talk. Would you please accompany me to my study?”

Patrick pats his mouth with his napkin and drops it neatly on his plate. He rises on wobbly legs and follows Jonny into the room beside the dining room, the one where he had heard Jonny, Sidney and the lawyer conversing earlier. It's a very large, well-proportioned room, paneled in oak, with windows looking over the lawns. There's a fire burning in the hearth. Every free inch of wall space is full of bookcases, the shelves crammed with what look like ledgers and account books. A desk under an immense snowdrift of papers dominates the majority of the space.

The fireside is bracketed by two armchairs. Jonny closes the door behind them and indicates that Patrick should be seated. Patrick sits on the edge of his seat and tries to think. Just because their marriage is legal does not mean that Jonny is not going to send him away and wreck all his hopes for his family's security. Maybe he can convince Jonny that divorce would cause a scandal --

“Patrick,” Jonny starts, and then words seem to fail him. He walks to the fireplace, looking down at the fire for a minute and then back at Patrick. “Patrick, Crosby did not divulge any intimate details of your health, of course, but he went so far as to say that, while you are in some considerable discomfort unfortunately, you are not injured, is that correct?”

“That's correct. Just somewhat sore.”

“I am very sorry that you're in pain.”

“It's nothing.” Patrick feels his face heat. 

“You must be in some significant pain. I -- I found blood on my -- on me this morning.”

“It's not -- it’s manageable.” Patrick shrugs one shoulder. “Sid -- Crosby gave me salve to use.” 

“I see.”

There's another long pause. Patrick tries to sit still.

Jonny sits down in the other chair, his back ramrod straight. He inhales and exhales heavily, and then says, “I wish to discuss the aims of our marriage with you.”

Here it comes.

Jonny wets his lips. “You did me the honour of agreeing to give me your hand in marriage in order to deal with my immigration difficulties, and in order to provide me with an heir to the entailed estates in Canada. In return, together we would provide appropriately for your mother and your sisters.”

Patrick nods. “That was the agreement.”

“Yes. Now we are married, resolution of my immigration situation is in progress, and that was my priority. And I give you my word, we will move directly in the coming days to set your mother and sisters up in the style and security any son or brother would hope to see, which needless to say is your priority.”

Patrick lets out a breath of relief.

“However -- “ Jonny clears his throat, “regarding the remaining aim of our marriage, I can only apologise for my treatment of your person last night. I was deep in brandy, but that's not an excuse.” Jonny's voice cracks. “I can't say how sorry I am.”

Patrick fixes his gaze on the rug beneath his feet.

“I hope you can accept my sincere apology.”

Patrick looks up to see an expression of acute misery on Jonny's face. “I can accept it,” Patrick says, immediately. “I do.” If all Jonny regrets is being a bit rough, then maybe --

Jonny doesn't relax one iota. “The activity required to produce an heir is not to everyone's taste.”

Does that mean that Jonny wasn't pleased with Patrick? Is that why Jonny drank so much, to get himself through their wedding night?

“The getting of an heir is not an immediate priority. I suggest that we table the entire subject until and unless you choose,” Jonny says.

“I agree,” Patrick says quickly. He's happy to leave sharing Jonny's bed until the discomfort from last night has disappeared.

“Good. We are both young. There are many years ahead of us, many decades, one hopes. I am resolved that I'll not trouble you again --” Jonny looks down. “That is to say, I will wait until you ask me to touch you again, should you ever wish to do so.”

Years? Decades? Patrick had thought that their arrangement would only last until Jonny’s immigration status was sorted out, and until he had provided Jonny with at least one heir. He had thought the marriage would be dissolved once Jonny got what he wanted from it. Patrick had tried not to think about how he could leave a child behind. He wasn’t sure he could. That’s why he had joint custody written into their agreement. Jonny had agreed to it without argument. They’d never discussed their eventual divorce. Patrick thought by the nature of their arrangement, one was implied.

“I understand,” Patrick says, although he doesn’t, really. “What about heat though?”

Jonny looks trapped. He pauses, then like he’s choosing his words carefully, says, “We will deal with that once it becomes an issue.”

Patrick wonders if that means he’ll be left alone to deal with his heat himself. He knows that heat as a virgin is unpleasant and feverish; he’s heard that going through heat alone after being in intimate contact with an alpha is dire.

“I want you to know that you have my gratitude for taking part in this arrangement. And despite how it may have appeared last night, you have my respect too, Patrick,” Jonny says. “I hope one day, despite my reprehensible actions, to earn yours.”

Patrick doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

Jonny shifts his feet on the rug. “The only thing is, we will need to make this appear to be a real marriage. So we will, I judge, need to continue to share a room -- platonically -- and if you will allow me the liberty, we may need to display gestures of affection when in public.” Jonny meets Patrick's startled look with a serious one of his own. “The immigration authorities have their spies.”

Patrick puts aside his surprise to summon dim memories of how his parents interacted in public before his father's untimely passing. “You mean -- kisses on the cheek, hand holding, that sort of thing?”

Jonny nods enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly. That sort of thing. Exactly. We need to present a united front, to work as a team to make it appear that this is a settled love match.”

“Instead of what it actually is.”

A muscle in Jonny's jaw contracts. “Precisely.”

It makes little or no difference to Patrick. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Excellent!” Jonny slaps a hand on his thigh and leaps to his feet. “I'm exceedingly glad we understand each other. If you're feeling up to it, I hope you will indulge me now, as I've arranged for us to take a short tour of the estate. I wish to introduce you to your new home.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The carriage that waits for them outside the front door is not like the one that brought them here following the wedding. 

“An open carriage?” Patrick says, feeling like an idiot for stating the obvious.

“The weather's not too bad today, and in this carriage, you can see better, and be seen. All the staff and tenants should know their new lord by sight.”

Patrick walks to the carriage, trying to conceal his limp, but from the frown on Jonny's face, not succeeding. Jonny takes him by the hips and lifts him into the carriage without troubling the steps. “Um, thank you,” Patrick says, as Jonny gently pushes him to sit on a large cushion and busies himself bundling Patrick up in rugs. Once Patrick is firmly ensconced under several pounds of woven materials, Jonny gives an order to the driver, and they head out to see the estate.

There’s plenty to see. Jonny's estate is, to say the least, extensive. They pass from the manicured ornamental gardens surrounding the house to the equally manicured kitchen gardens further out, the long lines of a walled garden that must enclose several acres at minimum, and then the parkland that provides heart-stopping views from the house's windows.

While the parkland is dotted with horses, sheep and cattle, the serious agriculture goes on out of the eyeshot of the house, in field after field, all the way to the horizon, it seems to Patrick. He knew the bare fact that Jonny was rich. He realises now that he had no real idea of the sheer extent of his holdings. And these are only the lands in the United States, the smaller part of Jonny's possessions. Patrick's aware that, north of the border, Jonny's family owns significant sections of Manitoba.

At length, Jonny calls to the driver to halt the horses by the side of what looks like marshland. “I want to show you this construction work, if you'd like to see it?”

Patrick excavates himself out of the rugs and Jonny again lifts him without effort, depositing him lightly on the track. Jonny takes Patrick's hand and puts it in the crook of his elbow. Thus linked, they walk the few steps to where, close by, a dozen men are working on the first level of a strangely shaped wooden building. As they get nearer, the workmen obviously notice their arrival, and doff their caps respectfully.

Jonny introduces Patrick to their leader, a man by the name of Tomkins, and they look over the construction site.

“Can you guess what type of building this is going to be?” Jonny asks.

“I have no idea. Something with a broad base but a relatively narrow footprint. Not a dwelling house,” Patrick says.

Jonny smiles. “No, it’s not for dwelling in. Not primarily.”

Patrick takes in the existing parts and draws lines upwards in his imagination. “Maybe a... tower? Or a windmill?”

Jonny grins. “You're right. A windmill.”

“Yes, sirs, we have a Dutchman helping us with the design and technical aspects,” Tomkins says.

“Why are you building a windmill all the way out here? Surely it would be better nearer the barns? The ground here is quite wet, surely a better foundation would be found elsewhere?” Patrick says, and then he realises. The marshland, a Dutch person... it's obvious. “You're going to use the windmill to drive pumps to drain the wetland.”

Jonny pats Patrick's hand. “That's right. We built the foundations and first course in stone, as you can see. To save weight, the rest is being constructed in wood. Otherwise our Dutch friend says the whole thing would sink in the earth. Tomkins, take us round the work so far.”

After they have toured the works, they return to the carriage and go further west, seeing great tracts of land devoted to forestry. “An investment for our future,” Jonny says. At the end of one arm of the woods, Jonny points out where he says a small lake is nestled in a clearing. Patrick will have to take Jonny’s word for it, as the lake is screened from their view by thick woodland. Patrick can just catch a silver gleam through the trunks as they pass. “I won't take you to see it today, it's too much of a walk. Another day we'll have a look at it. It’s a beautiful place. Breathtaking views. There's good fishing there too. And in winter, it freezes over and we can play hockey on the ice.”

“I used to play hockey when I was younger,” Patrick says from the depths of his cocoon of rugs.

Jonny’s arm tightens around him. “Good.”

Swinging back towards the house, after some time they come to a line of neat cottages. “Let me introduce you to a few select people.” Jonny signals to the driver and they pause at the door of a house larger than the others. The door opens and a very pretty lady, who is clearly imminently expecting a baby, appears.

“Jonny!” she says. “And your new husband, too! Come in and have some tea.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A small girl flings herself at Jonny’s knees as soon as they enter the main room of the cottage. “Good morning, Madelyn,” Jonny murmurs to the child, kissing the top of her head, and carrying her to the sofa. He pats the sofa beside him and Patrick takes a seat. “Madelyn, may I introduce you to Patrick. We got married yesterday.” 

Madelyn peeks up at Patrick. She's very cute. Then she launches herself into Patrick's lap. “Ooof! What a delightfully sturdy child.”

Jonny chuckles. “Don't bruise him, Maddie. Patrick's new here and we have to keep him in one piece.”

Madelyn responds by transferring her violent affections to Jonny and jumping up and down on Jonny's midriff. Patrick can't help laughing as Jonny makes faces indicating that Maddie is about to fatally compromise his internal organs.

Eventually Abby has pity on Jonny. “Maddie, why don't you go get your new toy to show Uncle Jonny?” As the child jumps off Jonny's lap, Abby says, “Jonny, come and help me with the tea tray.”

“Where are your maids? I'm sure I assigned you a new maid,” Jonny says, getting up off the sofa.

“Anna is at the market. Agatha is visiting her family just now.”

Alone for the moment, Patrick looks about him. The room is not very large, not the kind of place that could accommodate the massed ranks of a small army like the rooms of the house Jonny lives in, but it is cosy. A tabby cat sleeps on the windowsill. Books fill a bookcase and are piled on every flat surface, including an intriguing-looking gothic romance novel nearby with a bookmark in it. Abby must be reading it.

Patrick is just sneaking a peek at the novel when Abby and Jonny return, Jonny bearing the tray. He places it down at Abby’s side.

Abby pours the refreshments. “Patrick, have a slice of cake.”

Jonny hands Patrick a plate with a slice of cake on it and a fork. He picks up a slice of cake for himself and just shoves it in his face like a savage.

Abby sees Patrick's raised eyebrow and chuckles. “Jonny and my husband are old friends since they played hockey together in their school days. Jonny’s our daughter’s godfather. I hope you don't mind that we don't bother much with standing on ceremony, Patrick.”

“Not at all,” Patrick says, as Jonny helps himself to a second slice, the piglet. There is a giggle from under the sofa. Maddie appears to be lying in wait. 

Still munching, Jonny gets to his feet, fishes Maddie out by the ankle and throws her up in the air as she shrieks. The soft toy in her hand flies up higher and smacks into the ceiling. He catches her, catches her toy, nearly upsetting the tray in the process, which just makes her giggle more, and throws her again.

Abby watches Jonny placidly as he launches her child towards the ceiling and catches her again. Clearly this is a game they've played before. She switches her gaze to Patrick. “Please, try the cake. I baked it myself.”

Patrick samples it. “It's delicious, thank you very much. What a lovely home you have, and how beautifully you keep it.”

Abby smiles. “Thank you. I believe you've met my husband, Patrick?”

“I'm afraid I don't think I've had the pleasure.”

Having endangered Maddie's life a few more times, Jonny throws himself on the sofa. Patrick just manages to prevent his tea spilling. “Abby means Sharpy, Patrick.” Jonny wedges a wriggling, giggling armful of Maddie down between him and Patrick. “Patrick Sharp, to give that reprobate his full name. She has the misfortune to be married to Sharpy.”

“Oh!”

Jonny and Abby start to laugh.

“I mean, oh, I didn't realise Sharpy was your husband,” Patrick says hastily.

“We all have our burdens to bear,” Abby says. “Speaking of which, how do you find married life with Jonny so far, Patrick? Are you already contemplating divorce?”

Patrick feels Jonny's eyes lock on to his face. “Not yet,” Patrick says, taking a sedate sip of tea. “Our first full day of married life together is going tolerably well so far.” He looks down at his cup, seeing Jonny's relieved grin out of the corner of his eye.

Jonny hugs Maddie until she squeaks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A bell above the door tinkles to announce their arrival. Jonny escorts Patrick inside the tailor's shop with a hand at the small of his back.

A skinny dark-haired man hurries to meet them at the door. “Your lordship! How pleasant to see you again.” The man shakes hands with Jonny.

“May I introduce my new husband, Patrick? Patrick, this is Marc-Andre Fleury, master tailor.”

Patrick stifles a yelp as Fleury seizes him, kissing him on both cheeks in what Patrick supposes is the rather over-familiar French manner.

“Welcome to my humble establishment, my lord,” Fleury says.

“Pleased to meet you,” Patrick manages to say.

Fleury beams at him. “I look forward to working with you on all matters relating to your wardrobe.”

Patrick plucks at a thread on the sleeve of his jacket. He had thought his clothes were adequate.

“Sharpy and I work together in our often thwarted attempts to ensure that, at least part of the time, Lord Toews wears something slightly more civilised than garments suited for the stable yard.”

Patrick looks at Jonny.

Jonny shrugs with all the insouciance of a tall man with an athletic body that would look good in anything he might have occasion to put on, whether it was the finest custom tailoring, or rough and ready riding gear, or even down to and including a canvas sack.

Fleury smiles. “Life for a tailor is full of challenges, including tailoring pants that can attempt to contain Lord Toews's immense thighs.”

“I can see you'd have your work cut out there,” Patrick says. “No pun intended.”

Jonny gives him what Patrick supposes is intended to be a quelling look, his smile ruining the effect.

“Today we will be taking your measurements and making some choices in terms of colour and materials. I can attend your lordships at home in a short while for fittings -- unless your lordships will be taking a honeymoon?”

“No,” Jonny says. “We are postponing the honeymoon.”

“I understand. If you are ready, sirs, let us go to my fitting room and begin.”

They follow Fleury into a large room. There is a glass dome above letting in the weak autumn sunlight, with a central circular platform below. The walls are decorated with framed mirrors interspersed with pretty fripperies like cases of sea shells, painted fans, and peacock feathers. To one side, there's a table and chairs.

“Please take a seat, my lord,” Fleury says to Jonny. He snaps his fingers. A bevy of assistants appear. Fleury orders refreshments and turns to Patrick. “And now, sir, I ask you to stand here so my assistants can take your measurements.”

Patrick climbs the couple of steps up to the platform. Patrick stands where he's told to stand, while two assistants take his measurements. Another two flutter around Jonny, serving him tea and putting a selection of plates loaded with little cakes in front of him.

Jonny sips tea, the little white china cup looking ridiculously small in his big tanned hand, nodding along with Fleury's chatter.

“Your new husband is very handsome,” Fleury says.

“Yes,” Jonny says. “Extremely.” He watches Patrick over the rim of his cup.

Patrick can't help blushing. He knows this is the type of conversation any new husband would be expected to have; he knows that Jonny is simply working to give the impression that he and Patrick are a love match. Knowing doesn't make standing there listening to Jonny's sweet little lies any less embarrassing. He keeps his eyes down; even so, he's glad when one of Fleury's assistants asks him to turn his back to Jonny and Fleury.

“And beautifully proportioned,” Fleury says.

“Yes, indeed,” Jonny says in smoky tones.

“Unusually tall and remarkably broad shouldered.”

“Yes,” Jonny says, sighing a little.

On the wall in front of him, there is a glass case displaying butterflies, pinned. Patrick can empathise.

“And so intelligent, for an omega.”

Patrick doesn't hear Jonny respond. A second later, when the assistant asks Patrick to turn back around, he sees Jonny giving Fleury such an incendiary stare that Patrick's surprised Fleury's hair hasn't ignited.

Fleury, looking horrified, stutters out an apology.

Jonny turns his head dismissively and makes eye contact with Patrick. “My husband is the one to whom you should be apologising, Fleury.”

Fleury's hands twist in his lap. He looks beseechingly at Patrick. “Sincerely, my lord, I meant no offence,” he gasps.

“That's all right, Marc-Andre. None taken,” Patrick says. It's not like this is the first time he's heard an opinion like that expressed. “Is that all the measuring done?”

Not quite, it seems. After Fleury's assistants have measured pretty much everything that can be measured, including the length of his fingers and the width of his knuckles, Jonny takes his well-surveyed hand and accompanies him into Fleury's fabric room. The walls are covered with neat ranks of bolts of fabric of all types, from fine silk to frothy lace.

“What fabrics were you thinking of, my lord?” Fleury is addressing Jonny while Patrick takes a look around, stroking his fingers over some blue silk.

Jonny smiles, thin-lipped. “I suggest you ask Patrick, since he's the one who will be wearing your creations, Fleury.”

“Oh -- of course. Apologies.” Fleury's face flushes anew. He addresses himself directly to Patrick, “My lord, may I ask your thoughts?”

Patrick has no idea what to say. His clothes have always been his father's cast-offs. Choosing has never come into it.

Jonny must see the beginnings of panic on Patrick's face, as he says to Fleury, “Allow my husband and I a moment to discuss our options.”

Fleury bows deeply and high-tails it back into the main room.

Jonny reaches over and strokes the same silk Patrick had noticed. “This would be a good choice for an evening shirt.”

“Would it?”

“It'll bring out your eyes. You'll need several suits, for day and evening, in linen for summer and wool for winter, of course.”

“Of course,” Patrick echoes, although the thought had never crossed his mind.

“That’s what Sharpy told me. I don't know too much about fashion, as you can probably tell from looking at me, so I asked Sharpy to make us a list.” Jonny retrieves a notebook from one of his pockets. “Here we are... Yes. Summer suits for day and evening and formal events, winter suits for day and evening and formal events, several shirts to go with each suit, riding wear, underwear, nightwear, neckwear -- he means cravats, ties, scarves and the like -- summer and winter dressing gowns, summer and winter overcoats, summer and winter jackets, some knitwear for the winter, socks. There's a whole sub-list for gloves. Gloves for day, for evening, for riding and for winter...”

“That's a lot of clothing.”

“Just the bare essentials, according to Sharpy. Or rather, as he put it, the essentials so you’re not bare. Sharpy’s such a wit." Jonny rolls his eyes. "And of course, you'll need a swimming costume.”

“A swimming costume?”

“Yes, there's rather a good lake on our estate. Remember I pointed out its location to you once? In summer it's a refreshing place to swim, so you'll want a suit. That's Sharpy's opinion.” A corner of Jonny's lips quirks up. “I'd rather you do as I do, and swim as nature intended.”

“You mean, you swim in the buff?” Patrick can't help how squeaky he sounds. He clears his throat while Jonny laughs.

“It's up to you, naturally,” Jonny says.

“Surely I don't need so many clothes.” 

“Possibly not while you're swimming.”

Patrick elbows him, laughing. Jonny's hand clasps his elbow warmly.

“Seriously, it's my pleasure to get you kitted out, Patrick. I don't care what you wear, only that you choose things you'll enjoy wearing. And we need to tell Fleury your choices, and then we need to get to the bootmakers. Sharpy has a separate list for that establishment.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The moment they enter the restaurant, the head waiter Pierre expresses his pleasure that Lord Toews has returned to them. He directs them to a booth in a quiet corner of the room, and orders a waiter to bring Jonny a menu.

Jonny stares at the single menu that the waiter places in front of him, then turns his stare on the waiter until he turns on his heel and rushes off, and comes back with many apologies and a second menu for Patrick.

They take their time poring over the lengthy list of dishes Patrick isn’t going to be able to pronounce. Patrick had resolved to order the least expensive thing on the menu and is thwarted by the fact that there are no prices listed.

“What would you like?” Jonny asks.

“Maybe some soup?”

“May I encourage you to order something in the steak line? The beef fillet here with the peppercorn sauce is amazing. And it's nourishing!” Jonny says. “It'll build you up. If you'd like it.”

Jonny must think Patrick undersized. Perhaps it's unsurprising as all Jonny's friends appear to be built like brick outhouses, Patrick is comparatively tall as omegas go, but he must suffer by comparison.

He orders a steak, well done as against Jonny's rare steak. He’s never had food this fine. Jonny doesn’t mock him for the noises of enjoyment Patrick can’t help making as he eats it with pleasure. Jonny simply pours him glass after glass of wine and chats away so patiently about plans for the estate and plans for the house they're buying for Patrick's mother and sisters that Patrick forgets to be nervous.

By the time the plates are cleared and the waiter brings them two dessert menus, Jonny's doing an impersonation of the rather comical real estate agent who showed Jonny and all the Kanes the last house they viewed. Patrick can’t suppress a fit of the giggles. Jonny beams at him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Maybe rich people just enjoy spending money?

Making expenditures for Patrick before he married was an occasion of checking and rechecking his budget, trying to spend as little as possible. Jonny seems to spend money like it's a hobby. Today Jonny has taken him to a shop that is more of a vast glittery cave, where again the proprietor knows Jonny well and greets him warmly.

A total contrast to the proprietors of shops where Patrick, to feed his family, had sometimes to beg for credit.

Not that he ever went to any shop as fancy as this one before.

“I hope your mother liked the pearls your lordship chose for her birthday gift?” the proprietor, Henri, says once he has been introduced to Patrick.

“She did indeed, thank you,” Jonny says. “The three strands were perfect.”

The proprietor beams. “Are you looking for another gift for your mother or something else today, my lord?”

“Something else. To start with, I'd like to see some finger rings.”

In short order, Jonny has been supplied with and is looking over several trays of rings.

“Aren't those engagement rings?” Patrick says.

“Yes. I never had a chance to get you a proper engagement ring. Which one catches your eye? Come and take a look, Patrick.”

Patrick shuffles closer. The rings all look similar, with large gems shining against gold.

“Please take your time, sirs. I'll be at my desk if you require any assistance.” The proprietor retreats to the other side of the room.

Jonny nudges Patrick. “Pick any one you like.”

“You don't need to buy me an engagement ring. We're already married.”

“Yes, we are,” Jonny says softly. He takes Patrick's hand and rubs his thumb over the wedding ring. He bends and kisses it. Somewhere the shop's proprietor sighs longingly. “I know I don't have to, but I'd like to get you a ring, something that would look good here. Something just between me and you.”

Jonny seems intent on this so Patrick looks more carefully at the trays.

All the rings seem variations on a single motif, usually featuring a massive faceted diamond surrounded by a glittering fringe of smaller diamonds. Often the bands themselves are inset with smaller diamonds continuing the popular diamond-encrusted theme. They all seem a bit much for Patrick’s tastes, not that he’s ever had occasion to give a lot of thought to the design of jewels. In one of the glass cases, a sapphire ring seems modest enough in comparison to the giant sparklers in the velvet rows. He likes the colour of the simple square-cut stone. Patrick's mother's engagement ring had a sapphire. “I like that one, if it's not too expensive.”

Jonny looks at it closely. “I like it too. It complements your eyes.” He calls the proprietor over.

The proprietor inhales sharply when Jonny indicates which ring he will be purchasing. He takes the ring out of the display case. Jonny takes it and slides it onto Patrick’s finger. It fits perfectly.

“Would you please have this engraved on the inside of the ring?” Jonny writes something on a calling card and gives it to the proprietor without letting Patrick see what it is.

“What are you up to, Jonny?”

“Just a little message for you for the future.” Jonny's smile is warm and secretive.

While they wait, Jonny keeps Patrick's hand in his as they look through the glass cases. Jonny selects a watch and watch chain for Patrick. “Would you like to save your father’s watch and chain as a keepsake and get a new watch and chain for everyday?” Jonny says, picking him out a vastly more expensive watch than the one Patrick’s father used to own, with an elegant chain to accompany it. He politely ignores Patrick’s attempts to protest. Jonny must have noticed that Patrick no longer has his father’s watch, has probably guessed why, and is kindly providing a replacement without drawing attention to his lack.

If that’s not enough, Jonny asks Patrick to choose a pendant.

To keep up the charade that they are picking out love tokens, Patrick should probably choose something traditionally romantic in style. A heart, something floral, a pretty jewel. In the end, the pendant that appeals to him is a flowing sketch of a horse in gold. It reminds him of Sabre, long gone now.

Jonny thinks it's a good choice. They choose a chain for it together. Jonny strings the pendant on a chain they both like and gets Patrick to turn so Jonny can fasten it around his neck. It fits well, hanging to just above Patrick's breastbone.

“It's a lovely thing. The gold goes well with your colouring.” Jonny tugs on one of Patrick’s curls. “Why did you choose that pendant in particular?” Jonny says.

“It reminds me of Sabre, a horse I used to have.”

“One you had a particular fondness for?” Jonny straightens the pendant, presses the little golden horse against Patrick’s chest with one fingertip.

Patrick searches Jonny's face. He can’t see any sign of mockery for Patrick's sentimentality about a horse. “Yes, I had to sell him after my father passed away and it came out how things were with the family firm. Couldn’t afford to keep him in feed. We needed his asking price, too.”

Jonny hums sympathetically. He keeps his eyes on the pendant. “Tell me more about Sabre.”

By the time the proprietor returns with the freshly engraved ring, Patrick has told Jonny everything he can remember about Sabre, from the white star on his fine chestnut head, to his comically high-pitched whinny. How he could run like the wind and jump any fence fearlessly, down to how he used to nuzzle at Patrick's pocket for treats.

Jonny takes the little red leather ring box and puts it in his pocket, as the proprietor wraps everything else.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By now, Patrick is starting to become accustomed to their frequent trips to the finest shops in Chicago. Today's establishment is a place that compounds and sells soaps, perfumes, and lotions.

“Pick out some treats for your mother and sisters,” Jonny says. “And of course whatever you'd like for yourself.” He gives Patrick a tiny push between the shoulder blades, so he busies himself obediently looking through the bottles and packages on the shop's shelves. He doesn’t look at the price tags. He’s learned that it’s better for his conscience if he doesn’t while Jonny is buying him gifts.

He sniffs at a few things, recognising the lavender bath salts that Sharpy sprinkles in Patrick's baths. While Jonny is occupied talking something over with the assistant, Patrick does a little discreet sniff test of his own underarms, just in case this trip is a subtle way for Jonny to tell Patrick he's actually stinky.

Jonny and the assistant come over after a few minutes. “Did you find anything you like?”

“Um, you get your soap here usually, Jonny?”

Jonny nods.

The assistant smiles proudly and says, “Yes, Lord Toews does get his grooming and bathing products here exclusively.”

“I see. I'd like to get some of the same soap that Jonny uses. It smells very good.”

“Lord Toews has his soap and so on compounded specially as he has allergies to most perfumes,” the assistant says.

“Ah,” Patrick says, wrongfooted. “I'll take another look around.”

“I’ll get you some samples, sirs.”

As soon as the assistant leaves them, Patrick says, “I didn’t know. Secretly you're a delicate and fragile flower who has to use unscented soap?” 

Jonny nods, looking kind of angry about it. 

“The way you smell, that's your natural scent?”

Jonny nods.

“Oh. I didn't know that.” He feels a bit bad for making a joke about it. “You smell nice, Jonny.” Patrick underlines the point by leaning closer to Jonny and taking a deep lungful. “Really nice.”

“Good to know. You smell really good too,” Jonny murmurs. “Practically... edible.” He leans even closer. This would be a very good time for Jonny to lay one of those public signs of affection on Patrick. Maybe a kiss or two. Just to keep up the pretense.

Just then, the assistant comes back with a box of samples.

Jonny straightens up and steps away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick is bored. He's up early but already Jonny is not around, probably off with the horses at morning exercise. He goes to his dressing room and runs his fingers over a couple of the books he brought with him. He's read them a few times and they don't appeal at the moment. He could visit Abby and borrow a book from her, she'd offered. It's so early and she needs her sleep with the baby due so soon; he doesn’t want to disturb her. There's a whole library somewhere, he knows, but he doesn't feel like bothering one of the staff to get directions.

Aren’t there bookcases in Jonny's study?

He checks out the shelves; they contain financial records along with bloodstock files from the stables. There are maps of the estate, records of stocks and shares, estate workers' family details, and more. The desk is heaped with papers, as though Jonny has upended boxes of paperwork over it. It’s plausible. Even with a huge staff doing their level best to keep Jonny tidy, there are still places where his innate chaos frequently breaks out, and this, clearly, is one of them.

Perhaps Patrick should just tidy up the papers on the desk into neat stacks?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The sun is high in the sky when Jonny finds him. “Patrick, are you coming to have some lun-- Wow, look at you.”

Patrick emerges from his study of the estate accounts like coming up from deep underwater. “Jonny! Look at this.” He drags Jonny over to the immaculately organised desk to show him Patrick's notes and point out the records where he noticed the discrepancies.

“It looks like someone, probably your estate manager, has been embezzling funds from the estate accounts for what looks like a long period of time,” Patrick says. “I think, for years. I'd need to check through the rest of the files to be sure of the extent of it.”

Jonny's furrowed brow and tight jaw muscles are about as reassuring as an oncoming thunderstorm. Is he angry that Patrick has been sticking his nose in Jonny's business without his permission? Patrick holds his breath while Jonny takes a look through the evidence Patrick has collected so far.

Jonny calls a footman and sends him to call Duncan, Seabrook, and Sharpy.

“Are you angry with me? I was only trying to tidy up, help out a litt-- ”

“I’m not angry, Patrick, not with you. I'm angry with myself. I'm embarrassed that someone's been getting away with this for probably quite a long time,” Jonny says.

Patrick relaxes somewhat and shrugs. “If it weren't so carefully done, it would be easier to spot. The whole enterprise depended on remaining unnoticed.”

“How'd you get so good at math and accounts?”

“I always had a head for math, though omegas aren’t really supposed to get involved in business. When my father died, I had to get up to speed with the accounts for the family firm really quickly. Necessity, really.”

“And how did you spot the fake horses?”

“I’ve a pretty good memory for bloodstock.”

“Pretty good, huh?” Jonny grins.

Jonny doesn’t need to know that as a child, Patrick used to make a game of memorising the facts and figures in the bloodstock records in his father’s office. No one wants to be married to someone who thinks that sort of thing is fun.

The others arrive. Patrick has met Seabrook and Duncan before, when he arrived at the estate. Jonny introduces them again anyway. They loom above him as Patrick shows them all how he thinks the embezzlement was carried out. Fake accounts for horses that didn't exist, extra feed and grooms and veterinary fees for those and for actual horses, hundreds of tiny charges and hundreds of tiny elevated percentages on legitimate fees, not to mention the estate manager seemed to have been taking a commission on the stud fees. All of which added up to a slow and steady siphoning of wealth away from Jonny's bloodstock business. 

“I concentrated on the horses because that's the material I came across first, and that’s the business I’ve the most experience in. Each area of the estate's accounts would need to be gone through, though,” Patrick says.

The others nod gravely, as though they trust what he’s saying.

“Yes,” Jonny says, and rings the bell to call for large amounts of coffee. “Let's get started.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Possibly the long day examining the estate accounts in Jonny’s study and in Strome and Dach’s office, punctuated with large amounts of coffee, makes Patrick overtired. He doesn't sleep too well, and that's why when Jonny slides quietly out of bed just before dawn, Patrick wakes up.

Patrick sits up. “Good morning.”

Jonny grunts in reply, dragging pants up his strong thighs. He really isn't talkative in the morning. It’s so early neither Jonny’s nor Patrick’s valets are in attendance.

Patrick tries again. “Are you going to the stables?”

Jonny makes an affirmative noise as he puts his socks on. It’s amazing that Jonny has even been able to locate anything to dress in, when as Patrick has pointed out to him several times, Jonny's preferred method of organisation is throwing things on the floor. Jonny's valet, who seems to be subordinate to Sharpy and goes by the rather apt name of Saad, despairs of him.

“May I come with you?” Patrick says.

Jonny makes another affirmative noise, stuffing his feet into boots.

Patrick jumps out of bed and throws on some clothes. They head out to the stables, where in contrast to the sleeping house, the whole place is a hive of activity, with grooms tacking up horses and leading them out of their boxes. Seabrook greets Jonny with a nod and raises an eyebrow at Patrick, saving actual speech for bellowing orders at the grooms. 

Duncan appears from a box with Midnight, Jonny's horse, and gives Jonny a leg up into the saddle without bothering with the mounting block.

“Get Patrick a horse, a quiet one,” Jonny says to Duncan, peering down at Patrick from the splendid heights of Midnight's glossy back. As soon as Duncan comes back with a white mare for Patrick, Patrick gets a toe in the stirrup and gets himself up into the saddle without assistance. He can't keep a grin off his face as he gathers the reins and settles in.

Jonny takes in Patrick's air of satisfaction at being back in the saddle. “You've been missing being on horseback,” Jonny says, “obviously.”

“A little bit,” Patrick says. He falls in beside Jonny as the horses form a loose column and begin to make their way out past the breeding sheds and the barns to the exercise gallops.

Out on the broad flat expanse of land kept for the horses' exercise, Seabrook and Duncan put the horses through their paces while Jonny keeps a watchful eye on proceedings.

Patrick sticks close to Jonny so as not to be in the way. He's enjoying the cool morning air, the horse under him, the view of horses and riders running their drills in the dawn light, when he sees a stallion shorten his stride without any accompanying movements from his rider. He nudges Jonny and points. “Looks like a bit of trouble there.”

“Seabrook, call that horse back,” Jonny says.

Seabrook stands up in his stirrups and hollers at the rider, who eases off his pace and circles back to him.

Jonny hands his reins to Patrick and dismounts to run his hands down the legs of the horse in question. “Yes, a touch of warmth there above the joint.” 

Seabrook joins him and checks out the limb as well. “Agreed, he must have strained it. Good that it's not progressed.” To the rider, he says, “Lead him back to the yard, stable him, give him some water, and wait for us.”

“Good catch, Patrick. Not just a pretty face, eh?” Seabrook says, causing Duncan and Jonny to laugh. Patrick rolls his eyes.

Jonny remounts. “Patrick, shall we leave these old men to their observations and go take a turn around the gallops?” Jonny says.

“Yes, please,” Patrick says. “Race you to those oaks.” And then he kicks his horse and goes for it, enjoying Jonny's startled yell, leaving him in the dust.

He flattens himself over the horse's shoulders, balancing himself easily in the stirrups and giving himself to the familiar rhythm of a horse's gallop. He glances back over his shoulder to see Jonny, his face like thunder, gaining on him, and laughs with joy.

Patrick reaches the oaks first handily, a good two or three lengths before Jonny. He wheels his horse, grinning, as Jonny arrives.

“Cheater!”

Patrick laughs. “Hardly! You've the better horse, I was simply giving myself a fair head start.”

“A likely story,” Jonny growls, but he's smiling too. He grabs the reins of Patrick's mount and draws him closer. He's staring at Patrick's flushed face. His gaze drops to Patrick's mouth and he draws Patrick's horse closer still. “Is it all right if I -- ?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, then Jonny's big hand is cupping the side of his face. His thumb brushes over Patrick's lower lip, pressing into the softness of it. Jonny looks into his eyes, and he must see no hesitation, as he leans forward and kisses Patrick. Patrick moans and his lips part under Jonny's. Jonny licks into Patrick's mouth, grabbing a fistful of his coat front to keep him close, kissing him slowly and thoroughly.

Patrick is panting when Jonny pulls away for air. He’s not the only one.

They stare at each other, breathing hard, their horses shifting under them. Over Jonny's broad shoulder, outside the cool shadows cast by the oak branches, Patrick can see the riders on their horses flying past.

Patrick swallows. Jonny's eyes track the moment of his throat. Then Jonny, his fist still wrapped in Patrick's coat front, pulls him nearer and they're kissing again. Jonny's mouth is deliciously hot. Patrick puts his free hand on Jonny's shoulder to try and get him closer, but tipping forward unbalances him. He nearly slips out of the saddle before Jonny shoves him back to prevent his fall.

“Sorry,” Jonny says. He frees his fingers from Patrick's coat and rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “We should probably get back.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It's quite a cold morning. Patrick is digesting his breakfast in front of the fire with his nose in a ledger. Jonny comes in, all buttoned up in his overcoat and hat, obviously ready to leave the house. “Today is the traditional day for visiting all the households on the estate. I’d like you to come with me and meet everyone.”

Patrick detaches himself from the cosy depths of the upholstery and follows Jonny out to the hall. “What's involved?”

“Well, there's a few parts to it.” Jonny gets Patrick's overcoat and starts helping him into it. “The kitchens have been preparing the gifts all week. We take them, and we go and visit each tenant and worker's house on the estate. We give them the goodies, we kiss their babies, we foster goodwill and harmony. We all get to know each other.”

“Sounds good. Very friendly.”

“It’s not that friendly,” Jonny says, slapping Patrick’s hat on top of his curls. “We have an ulterior motive.”

Patrick laughs. “We do? What’s that?”

“We do. The ulterior motive is that we can take a look at how they are maintaining the property we're letting to them, make notes of anything that needs doing, and see if there are any problems generally, without having to schedule an official inspection and put everyone's backs up.”

“Sneaky,” Patrick says approvingly. They've reached the rear of the main house, where a couple of carthorses are already hitched to an open wagon. Members of staff come and go from the kitchens in the basement, loading the cart with cloth-wrapped bundles. In front of the cart, there's the open carriage.

Lurking near the back door are Strome and Dach, the young lads who do all Jonny's scribing. “Strome and Dach are coming along to take notes?”

“Yes.” Jonny gestures to Strome and Dach to get in the carriage. 

“It’s a good method,” Patrick says.

“My mother suggested it. No one likes the landlord scrutinising them.”

“You're sugaring the inspection pill, essentially,” Patrick says.

“Yes. We'll start with Sharpy's house. That's another thing my mother suggested. Everyone, including my old friend Sharpy, gets treated the same.”

“Your mother’s smart.”

Jonny nods.

“And you have an ulterior motive for that too. You want to meet Abby's new baby,” Patrick says.

“Yes, and I want to meet Abby's new baby. And see my little goddaughter,” Jonny says, smiling. He probably views the prospect of another bout of being used as a trampoline by Maddie with happiness, the weirdo.

“More than one ulterior motive? How very Machiavellian of you.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Abby had the new baby, another cute girl, a mere two days ago. Abby looks exhausted and delighted. Sharpy is incandescent with happiness. Jonny claps Sharpy on the shoulder and kisses Abby's hand as respectfully as he would a queen's.

Patrick gives Maddie, a proud big sister now, a hug, as Sharpy passes Jonny the baby. Watching Jonny hold her so carefully, seeing his face soften as he looks at her and strokes her cheek with a tender fingertip, makes something in Patrick's chest melt.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After a few months, Patrick thinks he has started to adjust to daily life at the estate. He always goes to morning exercise with Jonny and the horses, and unless the weather is legitimately appalling, goes for a ride with him afterwards. It's not for admiring the scenery, or exercise, although it does include those things; it's Jonny keeping a gimlet eye on everything going on in the estate. Patrick is getting to know the estate quite well, and getting to know Jonny better. They talk of many things. Even topics as dull as crop rotation, and as repugnant as the many illnesses to which, apparently, sheep are prone, are fun when discussed with Jonny. Often Patrick’s face will ache from laughing by the time they return to the house.

It’s astonishing how many projects Jonny has in development in places all over the estate. The windmill-powered wetland drainage and the forestry plantations are only the tip of the iceberg. Jonny seems to enjoy methodical planning, often playing the long game.

Sometimes, wherever they are on the estate, if they are heading back anyway, they race each other back to the stables. On flat ground, with Midnight being the bigger and more powerful horse, Jonny tends to win. When they race through woodland or have to weave their way between obstacles or over fences, Patrick tends to win.

Jonny is competitive in a way that Patrick finds hilarious. When Patrick is the victor, Jonny will often still be complaining about Patrick's unfair advantages of being smaller, lighter, more flexible, and much much sneakier, by the time they reach the stables and give the horses to the grooms. He'll still be going on about it when they are going upstairs to bathe. Patrick isn't quite sure which he enjoys more, winning, or laughing heartily at Jonny's complaints when he loses.

In fairness to Jonny, when he wins, he doesn't make a big deal about it. In fact, he doesn't say a word. He simply confines himself to radiating smugness for the rest of the day.

After Patrick's bath, followed by subjecting himself to the not very tender mercies of Sharpy with his razors, he joins Jonny again for breakfast. Often they don't bother with descending to the breakfast room, instead breakfasting privately and cosily by the fireplace in their bedroom.

After breaking their fast, they work together in Jonny's office, dealing with business decisions, accounts and paperwork; all the major issues and minutiae of managing the estate. From the details of cattle management to Jonny’s rather obscure interest in intensive alfalfa and kale horticulture -- "It's the nutritious foodstuff of the future, Patrick!" -- no two days are the same. Jonny sometimes talks about hiring a new estate manager, having unceremoniously fired the last one and handed him over to the police to be charged with theft. Patrick feels that there is no rush and one could argue no need, as they handle all the details between them without much in the way of difficulty. As Patrick continues to get more of a grasp on the estate's many interlocking businesses, he thinks Jonny is starting to see his point.

After the noontime meal, they head out together, sometimes for a walk or another ride, sometimes to go to town to make a few purchases, or do some business with a bank or a lawyer. Often they go to see a show, visit a museum or zoological garden, or see friends and family. Not that there’s a huge amount of difference sometimes between the antics of some of the zoo’s denizens and those of family members.

Patrick gets on very well with Jonny's brother, David, when he visits. David is very solicitous and respectful towards Patrick, even though the man seems to be perpetually stifling a smile when he sees Jonny with Patrick. Such an attitude must be one of the trials of having a brother; Patrick does not know as he has never had to suffer that particular affliction.

Patrick’s affliction is his sisters, much though he loves them. The house Jonny chose with Patrick’s help, bought and fitted out for Patrick’s sisters and his mother, is a beautiful and sizable townhouse, in an elegant square, in the most expensive part of town. Patrick, while happy his mother and his mothers are now suitably housed, had used to feel a certain amount of guilt over the immense expense this must have incurred for Jonny, until he became more familiar with the estate finances and realised with relief that Jonny could easily afford it.

Jonny had, true to his word, wasted no time after he and Patrick were married, in setting up bank accounts and store accounts for Patrick's mother and each individual sister so that they don’t have to worry about money. Jonny even hires and pays a whole host of staff, from maids to a slightly terrifying housekeeper, to keep all running smoothly in the Kane household. Everything Patrick hoped to achieve for his family has been achieved through Jonny's generosity. It's a crushing weight off Patrick's shoulders.

Are Patrick's sisters grateful for all of Jonny's largesse?

No.

He's sure that they are -- deep in their hearts -- although Patrick would never know it, from the way they tease Jonny unmercifully. Every time Jonny and Patrick take them to the park, the zoological gardens or a fine restaurant or the theatre, they joke with Jonny until he's blushing like an autumn sky. When they visit the estate or when Jonny and Patrick visit them at home, and thus are in comparative privacy, they are even worse.

Patrick had a small shaving cut on his neck the last time his mother and sisters visited, a tiny flaw due to Sharpy's new-parent sleep loss, no doubt. Patrick’s sisters had repeatedly implied with an almost total lack of delicacy that Jonny had been ravishing Patrick and marked up his throat in the process. Poor Jonny was so mortified, he'd actually muttered some excuse and fled the room. Patrick's sisters had collapsed with laughter at this result. They were incorrigible.

Is Patrick grateful for all that Jonny has done for him and his family?

Yes.

Patrick tries to show it in small ways. When he is organising the menus for the week ahead with the head cook, he makes sure that Jonny's favourite dishes are included. He does not tease, or even if he can avoid it, speak to Jonny before he's had some coffee in the morning. He is happy to host Maddie when her parents are in need of some rest, so Jonny can enjoy her company.

He tries to show Jonny gratitude in a more significant way. Jonny and Patrick have been sleeping in the same bed since they married, but since their wedding night, Jonny hasn't laid a finger on Patrick.

Well, that's not quite true.

Jonny touches Patrick all the time. He guides him with a hand at the small of his back, he likes to walk arm in arm with Patrick or hold hands whenever possible, his arm is always along the back of Patrick's seat in any carriage, seat, or opera box they are in together. Often when they are in public, Jonny will press a kiss to Patrick's cheek or to his hair.

Sometimes in a quiet corner of the estate, he will take Patrick aside and kiss Patrick's lips. Patrick cherishes those moments.

Apart from casual touches, or strictly rationed kisses, Jonny doesn't make any move towards having a regular marriage or having an heir.

When Patrick sidles up to him in bed at night, Jonny is happy to hold Patrick close. Jonny is always so warm, Patrick seems to gravitate to him in his sleep. Patrick wakes up wrapped in Jonny's arms. Jonny never kisses him when they are alone.

Patrick is too shy to seduce Jonny. He wouldn't even know where to start. And for all the interest Jonny seems to show in Patrick, he could be a favourite dog, absent-mindedly petted and allowed on the bed out of longstanding affection, of no further significance than that.

There's no way Patrick could ask Jonny to touch him or kiss him, not when Jonny clearly isn't interested.

The way Jonny acted on their wedding night must have been down to the brandy. Patrick's not so naive that he doesn't realise most men will sleep with anyone with a pulse when they're drunk, no matter how much the prospect might repulse them in the cold light of day. And everyone knows that goes double for an alpha with any omega.

Patrick tries not to think about it.

When Patrick thinks about it, he has to stop and breathe, and count his blessings. If Jonny is not physically attracted to him, or at least no more than any alpha is attracted to any omega, that's perfectly understandable. It doesn’t make any difference. It doesn't stop them enjoying their unexpectedly strong friendship and building a good life together.

Jonny's immigration status is secure. Patrick's sisters and mother are financially secure. Everything's fine.

It's fine.

Not long ago, when he was scrambling to survive, working every waking moment to keep some kind of roof over his mother's and his sister's heads, desperate to scrape together enough to keep them fed, he would have given his right arm to have all he has now.

Patrick still wakes up in a cold sweat sometimes, worrying about where their next meal is going to come from, until he remembers that he’s safe now. His mother and his sisters are safe. Jonny's steady affection, the enjoyable days they spend working and the evenings they spend relaxing together, are more than he ever dreamed he could have.

What more could he ask for?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One morning, Patrick wakes up to an unusual thing -- Jonny is in bed still, awake and waiting for Patrick to regain consciousness, when normally he's up early, trying to get his clothes on without falling over. Jonny’s breath is warm and regular against the back of Patrick’s neck.

Patrick says, “Good morning.”

Jonny’s arm around Patrick tightens. “Good morning, Patrick. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He rolls onto his back and puts a pillow behind his head so he can see Jonny better.

Jonny pulls the covers back and gives him a friendly shove. “Come on. Get up. I've something to show you.”

When they're both dressed, they walk through the quiet halls, interrupted only by the occasional maid scurrying to get the fires lit. Patrick half-expects Jonny to lead him to their study or one of the reception rooms, and present him with a new book or something like that. Which would be more than acceptable. He didn't expect Jonny to even remember Patrick's birthday, let alone get him a gift.

They don't end up in one of the rooms in the house though. Jonny leads Patrick to the stable yard.

Patrick hears a high-pitched whinny over the usual morning noises of the stable yard. He stops in his tracks.

That can’t be --

“Come on,” Jonny says again, taking his hand and leading him toward the end box in the furthest part of the yard. He opens the door of the end box with a flourish.

Snug in the box is a tall chestnut horse with a white star on his forehead.

“Oh my God,” Patrick says. “ _Fuck._ ” Patrick seems to be having trouble breathing. He stumbles forward and gets his arms around Sabre's neck. He presses his face into Sabre's mane.

Sabre rubs his muzzle against the side of Patrick's head, just like he used to. And then he nuzzles Patrick's pockets for possible treats, just like he used to, the greedy bastard.

“So it is the right horse,” Jonny says in tones of intense satisfaction.

Patrick tears himself away from Sabre to hug Jonny so hard that he huffs. Patrick pulls back long enough to say, “Thank you, Jonny. Thank you,” and then hugs Jonny hard again. Patrick is absolutely not starting to cry. Absolutely not.

“Oh, Patrick, please don't --” Jonny rubs a fingertip under Patrick's eyes to catch his tears. “I thought you'd be pleased! You wear that pendant all the damn time.”

“I am pleased. I'm very pleased.” Patrick hides his wet face in Jonny's shoulder. “Thank you so much, Jonny.”

“Happy birthday, my -- Happy birthday, Patrick.” Jonny squeezes him gently. “When you're ready, let's take him out and see if you and he can keep up with Midnight and I.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Christmas in a house like Jonny's is different from Christmases past in the childhood home Patrick's family lived in, and even more so from those in the succession of drab accommodation he and his sisters and his mother have inhabited since Patrick's father died. For one thing, there's plenty to eat and drink, plenty of firewood for the fireplaces, and for another, there’s a tall tree in the front hall, with presents under it. Patrick helps Jonny decorate the tree with miniature candles in copper settings, sparkling glass stars suspended on red ribbons, and little gilded wooden moons. When night comes and all the little candles are lit, Jonny puts his arm around Patrick so they can admire their hard work. The candlelight highlights Jonny’s sculpted cheekbones and makes Jonny’s eyes gleam. Patrick has to force himself to look away.

The other difference is the festive social obligations. Jonny throws a party for all the estate staff and tenants. He hires a catering company from the city to manage the whole event, so his staff don't have to organise or clean up after their own party. Just as well -- with all the estate's resident children running wild in the house, their parents are helpless to prevent a rather energetic food fight from breaking out in the kitchens. Maddie is one of the ringleaders, causing widespread carnage. She'd mowed down unsuspecting opponents with a dessert cart, and rather inventively, used pastries as artillery. There’s pudding and whipped cream everywhere, including on the kitchen ceiling. Patrick would've thought Jonny would be angry at the mayhem that ensues. Instead, he just laughs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick and Jonny have quite a calendar of Christmas events to attend, at other mansions in the countryside, and at locations in the city.

At the first ball he attends on Jonny’s arm, Patrick is dazzled by the ballroom filled with guests. Their massed perfume and cologne, and the vibrant colours of their silks and suits, befuddle his senses. He clutches Jonny’s hand.

Jonny whispers in his ear, “Don't worry, Patrick. It's only a few dances and some conversation, and then we can leave if you like.”

There are so many festive galas, receptions, and fetes, that Patrick eventually gets used to dressing up for and attending each of them, and even to dancing at them. The dancing at least presents no problem. Patrick discovered at their wedding reception that he need not fear it. All he needs to do is let Jonny take him in his arms, relax and let Jonny lead. Patrick might resent that omegas are always expected to let alphas lead, but at least while they're having to waltz, it makes things simpler. While each event is glamorous, each social occasion is sparkling, the exertions of dancing and conversation at these evenings do not particularly appeal overmuch to Patrick. He does his level best to support Jonny and be a suitable, respectable, appropriate partner. What does appeal to him are the carriage rides home afterwards.

Jonny will always hold him close in the carriage afterwards. Sometimes, Jonny will whisper in his ear, saying something like, "We should -- the immigration authorities may be watching. May I?" and then kiss him until he's breathless. The further away a particular venue is, the longer the carriage ride home is, and the happier Patrick is.

Almost the last social event of the winter season is the ball Jonny throws on Christmas Eve. It's extremely well attended, possibly due to the date, possibly because many people wish to take a look at the new omega who has captured the most eligible alpha in Chicago. The housekeeper, Knight, and her staff have worked themselves to shadows getting the house decorated for the festivities. The house is almost unrecognisable with its glitter and shine.

Jonny looks intimidatingly handsome in his severely cut evening suit. Patrick just tries to look as though he has interacted with a comb sometime in the last week.

Patrick dances all night. His preference would be to dance with Jonny exclusively, if he has to dance with anyone at all. As the omega of the house and partner of the host, he must also dance with anyone else who wishes to stand up with him.

When all the guests have departed, Patrick takes off his jacket, removes the complicated cravat Sharpy inflicted on him, and sits down gratefully on one of the drawing room sofas. His feet hurt. Jonny takes off his own jacket and flings it in the general direction of a nearby chair. Jonny’s cravat is already a distant memory. The candlelight illuminates the golden skin revealed by the open neck of his shirt. Considering he’s outside the private confines of their rooms, he’s scandalously underdressed.

Jonny sits on the same sofa; leaning over, he eases off Patrick's shoes and lifts Patrick's sore feet into his lap. He rubs his thumbs in firm circles into Patrick's aching arches. It feels so good that Patrick moans. Jonny flashes him a grin and keeps going.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next day, of course, is Christmas. Jonny has invited Patrick's sisters and mother, and the Toews side of the family have already arrived from Canada some days ago. Patrick keeps bumping into various Toews cousins. They are all unfailingly polite.

Patrick would have liked to get Jonny a lavish gift, to show him even a smidgeon of how immense Patrick's gratitude is for all Jonny's done for Patrick and his family. The problem is, although he realises he is fortunate to live in luxury with Jonny, he doesn't have any actual cash. Although he works alongside Jonny, he makes no money himself. Jonny pays for everything. Jonny is generous to a fault; regardless, it would be nonsensical for Patrick to ask Jonny for money to buy Jonny a gift.

He's not sure what to do, and as Christmas approaches, spends much time worrying about the matter, until one day in early December, he and Jonny happen to be walking through the gardens. They stroll though the largest glasshouse and the tall exotic plants within give Patrick an idea. He says nothing at the time.

He comes back at night when Jonny is asleep to take a few discreet cuttings, some from the hothouse plants that grow under the protective glass, and some from the tougher plants that grow under the sky.

It's been years since he and his sisters used to weave bracelets out of whatever plant fibres they could find or scavenge. He keeps the materials he’s working on tucked away in his dressing room, where Jonny won't see. He takes a quick shower each morning, using the rest of the time he'd usually be soaking in the tub to work on his project. The braiding takes many hours of fumbling until he gets the hang of it again. He spends a lot of time finding the best way to dry the different plant species so their colours and flexibility are preserved, and more on getting them to interweave handsomely.

He humbly presents the bracelet to Jonny on Christmas morning, wrapped in a sheet of writing paper filched from their desk. Jonny looks so delighted while he's unwrapping it, perhaps anticipating a more impressive gift than it actually is, that a wave of shame at the paltriness of the gift rolls over Patrick. He wants to snatch it back. Before he can, Jonny has it out of the wrapping.

Jonny's eyes trace the intricate pattern of the braiding. His smile is blinding. He kisses Patrick’s cheek in thanks and gets Patrick to help him put the bracelet on. Patrick likes how it looks on Jonny’s wrist.

After that he rarely seems to take it off. Patrick often catches sight of Jonny running his fingertips over the pattern.

Having asked Patrick to help him choose suitable items, Jonny gives Patrick's sisters and mother jewellery for Christmas. Patrick selected simple strands of pearls as a necklace and bracelet for his mother, and colourful gems as sparkling pendants and earrings for his sisters. They are truly delighted with the gifts, as Patrick had thought and hoped they would be. Even so, their smiles are not as bright as Jonny’s when he unwrapped the braided bracelet Patrick handmade for him.

For his part, Jonny gives Patrick an oil painting. It’s a group portrait that he commissioned secretly. Patrick's sisters and mother sat for the artist at the Kane townhouse in the city, so it comes as a complete surprise to Patrick when he tears the wrapping paper off. In the painting, his sisters put him in mind of bright spring flowers surrounding their mother, a statuesque winter rose. The artist has deftly captured the serenity of his mother's expression, as well as the glints of mischief in his sisters' eyes.

It's beautiful. If Patrick's smile is a bit wobbly when he thanks Jonny, Jonny doesn't seem to mind at all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Sir, would you get out of the bathtub before you turn into a raisin?” Sharpy says.

Patrick finishes scrubbing himself and throws the sponge at Sharpy's head.

Sharpy ducks the incoming sponge neatly.

Patrick sighs. “I'll be out in a second.”

“I still have to shave you,” Sharpy says, continuing to run his blade up and down a whetstone.

“I had a shave this morning! You were there. You shaved me!”

“I realise the peach fuzz you have instead of an actual manly beard like mine might lead you to believe that you can skip the razor before you go to the ball this evening, but in fact you are wrong. Your puny stubble still needs attention.”

Patrick groans and submerges himself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He's standing in front of the full-length mirror in his dressing room, twitching slightly in an uncomfortable blue suit Sharpy poured him into, when Jonny comes in.

Jonny's suit is by the same tailor. Despite that, as usual Patrick looks like he's due up on charges in front of a judge, while Jonny looks like he's just come to life and stepped down from a marble pedestal in some sculpture gallery or Greek temple.

“You look good, Patrick.” Jonny stands behind him, putting his hands on Patrick's shoulders.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, ducking his head. “You look great, Jonny.”

They smile at each other in the mirror.

“As it’s the New Year’s Eve ball this evening, I was wondering, would you honour me by wearing this?” Jonny shows him a small box. It's in the signature red leather of the jeweller where Jonny bought him his pendant and watch. Jonny opens the box and holds it steady while Patrick takes the sapphire ring out of it.

Patrick finally gets to see what Jonny ordered engraved inside the ring. He reads the inscription out loud, probably butchering the pronunciation. “ _Mon coeur est a vous._ What does it mean?” He thinks 'coeur' means ‘core’ and 'vous' means 'you,' but that's just guesswork.

Jonny takes the ring and slides it on Patrick's finger. It looks good beside his wedding ring. “It means... it means I care about you a great deal, Patrick. And I don't want you to forget that. So please wear this for me.” He leans down and kisses Patrick's knuckles while Patrick tries to breathe calmly. “Now, let's go. The quicker we get to this ball, the quicker we can get home. It’s starting to snow.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the Subban mansion, Jonny twirls him around the dance floor for two or three dances, before getting them both some champagne so they can refresh themselves. 

Jonny takes Patrick's hand and they circulate as they must. They come across more than one attractive omega, which makes Patrick tense, but Jonny doesn’t give any of them a second look. Talking to virtual strangers is stressful, so Patrick is happy when they come across someone he knows. Sidney Crosby is chatting animatedly with a tall fellow, taller even than Jonny, who Sidney introduces as Geno. Geno, who seems to be Russian to judge by his charming accent, chats with Jonny and Patrick pleasantly for a while, and then excuses himself to go and get Sidney another drink.

Sidney makes polite queries about how married life is suiting Jonny and Patrick, while Jonny follows Geno to get Patrick a fresh glass. As soon as they’re gone, Sidney nudges Patrick and raises his eyebrows at Patrick's engagement ring.

“That's very nice. Is it new?”

“Jonny gave it to me earlier.”

“Very pretty. Isn’t that the Sikura Sapphire? I think I read about it in the papers.”

“I don’t know.”

Sidney spots Geno and Jonny coming back. “I am happy for you, Patrick. I hope one day I can be equally as happy.” His eyes track Geno as he and Jonny make their way through the crowd; easy to do as they are the two tallest men at the ball. Patrick looks at the expression on the face of the Russian gentleman when he catches sight of Sidney, and doubts it will be long until that day comes.

Jonny gives Patrick his glass and puts his arm around Patrick’s waist. Patrick thanks him and takes a sip, making a face at the sharp taste and the bubbles.

Across the crowded ballroom, a man is staring at him. Patrick recognises Deane from his and Jonny’s wedding reception. He angles himself so Deane isn’t in his line of sight, and concentrates on the conversation between himself, Jonny, Geno, and Sidney.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As midnight comes closer, Jonny sticks closely to his side. When the musicians play a drumroll, Jonny turns to Patrick. The musicians break into a cheerful tune to mark the advent of a new year, and the cheering crowd surges around them, Jonny puts his big warm hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, covering Patrick’s mating gland, and bends to kiss him.

Patrick expects a dutiful peck on the lips to mark the occasion. They are in the middle of a ballroom crammed with people, not in the semi-public but semi-private space of a carriage, or tucked in a quiet corner of the estate.

Jonny takes Patrick’s mouth. He kisses Patrick hot and open-mouthed and hungry. He bites the corner of Patrick’s jaw, kisses his cheek, kisses his way down Patrick’s throat, then kisses him again, hard. Patrick makes a stunned sort of sound and tries very hard to merge into Jonny, holding on to his lapels for dear life.

When Jonny draws back, Patrick is out of breath. So is Jonny.

Jonny looks into his eyes as though he’s the only person in the room. “Happy new year, Patrick,” Jonny says in a soft rumble.

Patrick licks his lips. “Happy new year, Jonny.”

Jonny’s hand on the back of Patrick’s neck flexes, squeezing him gently for a long moment, and then lets go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The music and laughter of the ball fade away as the carriage follows the road into the tree line. Under the trees, with the stars obscured, it's even darker and the breeze in the branches very quickly makes Patrick feel like their carriage is miles from anywhere.

They must be halfway home when Patrick feels a jolt as the side of the carriage tilts and drops. He hears a curse from the driver. He lifts his head from where he's been drowsing on Jonny's shoulder and straightens up.

Jonny shoves the carriage door nearest him open, letting in a blast of cold air. “Stay here, Patrick.” He jumps out into the dark.

Patrick sticks his head out of his warm nest of furs to see what can be seen, but that’s little enough in the flickering light from the carriage lamps. He can hear the stamping of horses, the muffled conversation of the footmen, and Jonny's deep rumble. The snow is coming down harder now.

Jonny reappears at the carriage door, his face a pale oval floating in front of the dark trees. “Looks like the axle's cracked. You'll freeze if we stay here. We'll have to ride the rest of the way to the house and send help back to retrieve the carriage.”

Patrick's head is still cloudy from the champagne, so Jonny helps him emerge from his cocoon in the carriage and then helps him up onto one of the outriders’ horses. Once Patrick is situated, Jonny gets a leg up from one of the grooms and settles behind Patrick. Jonny puts his arms around Patrick to collect the reins, as he gives a few last commands to his men. He calls one of the grooms over. “Tie one of the lanterns to the tack.” While the groom is tying on the lantern, Jonny murmurs in Patrick's ear, “We have to light our way somehow.”

Patrick nods sleepily. Makes sense.

When they set off, Patrick feels a stab of guilt that they are leaving the others to wait out in the cold for reinforcements. There's not much he can do about it now. Without their lantern, it’d be absolutely pitch black out here. There's no moon at all.

Once they are out of sight of the carriage, Jonny turns their horse off the road and into the trees.

“We're going to take the path through the trees, instead of the main road,” Jonny says. “Slower. Safer.”

Patrick tries to figure out what Jonny means, but it's hard to care about that when Jonny is solid and splendidly warm at his back. He relaxes into the sway of the horse's stride, gives into the temptation to lean back and lets Jonny take his weight, or at least that not taken by the long-suffering horse. Despite the flakes of snow filtering down through the trees, he or she is putting out warmth like a blacksmith's forge. Patrick pats his or her satin neck fondly, rubbing his fingers over the parts of the mane that he can reach, giggling at the feathery feel tickling his fingertips.

Jonny clasps Patrick tighter, his strong arms and the good smell of his skin around him, and they are silent all the way home.

Patrick would have thought that the long ride and the cold air would have made him sober up a bit, but when they arrive at the house, he still feels inebriated. In fact, he feels more inebriated than he did when they were leaving the ball. As they approach the house, their horse's hooves ring on the cobbles in the driveway; lamps ignite in the windows of the house and the window of the grooms' quarters above the stable yard. Shortly afterwards Patrick hears some grooms clatter down the stairs.

The grooms are still in their nightshirts when they reach the yard. One dashes out to take the reins. The others crowd around to attend their master, asking questions about where the carriage and their colleagues are.

Their master jumps down from the horse. Patrick's determined not to be helped down like he's someone's fragile great aunt so he goes ahead and dismounts quickly before Jonny can turn to assist him. He's dismounted many times from many horses, still he must've misjudged it because his knees crumple when his boots hit the ground.

Jonny grabs him. “Easy there, Patrick.”

Patrick's head spins and he definitely feels... quite drunk. How can it be? He'd only had a few glasses of champagne. “I think... I don't feel too well.”

Jonny swears and tucks Patrick against his side as he starts for the entrance hall, issuing clipped instructions to the footmen over his shoulder. He must be sending some of the staff to help with the damaged carriage, Patrick's sure, although he can't really follow all the details.

Patrick's legs feel quite weak the further towards the house they get. Did he sprain something dismounting awkwardly? Jonny's pretty much holding him up by the time they reach the door. Jonny smells so good.

As Jonny hauls Patrick over the threshold, Patrick blinks in the bright lights and turns his face into Jonny's shoulder and, oh, suddenly Jonny's neck is right there, so Patrick nuzzles closer to the source of the delicious scent. He inhales deeply and feels very light-headed.

“Christ,” Jonny mutters. He snaps a few more orders at the waiting staff, then sweeps Patrick up in his arms without any sign of effort. He takes the staircase two steps at a time.

Over Jonny's shoulder, Patrick glimpses Duncan and Seabrook with matching worried looks on their faces. Jonny is pushing the doors to their bedroom open and hustling them through. He's careful not to knock Patrick's head on the door frame, setting him down on his feet against the wall as soon as they are in private.

Jonny kicks the door shut behind them, locks it, and starts undoing Patrick's coat buttons. An excellent idea, as Patrick is far too warm now that he's indoors, out of the cold night air. Patrick tries to help with the blasted buttons but ends up listing backwards and nearly hitting his head on the wall.

Why is it so hot in here? There's a fire burning in the hearth, as usual, but only a small one and in spite of the snow outside, the sash windows are open an inch. Jonny's standing orders; he thinks ample ventilation is important for good health. Still the room is incredibly warm.

Patrick pushes his hair off his sweaty forehead. “Jonny. Jonny, I'm so hot.” 

Jonny curses, mutters something that sounds like, “I know, damn it,” fights with Patrick's last button, and swears again.

“Really,” Patrick says, giggling, “there's no call for profanity.” Jonny props Patrick against the nearest piece of furniture, a chest of drawers, tugs his own coat off and drops to his knees. 

What a great idea. Patrick feels quite daring as he tilts his hips out from the wall. Jonny's mouth is so close -- maybe if Patrick asked, if he begged? Before Patrick can get the words out, Jonny starts undoing Patrick's boots and pulling them off his feet, which is not as much fun. Patrick pouts. His knees feel weak and he puts his palms flat on the wall to stop himself slipping down to the floor.

Jonny's still swearing in a steady, vicious stream, but his hands are gentle as he strips Patrick down to his underwear. 

Then he goes away. Patrick doesn't like that.

The wallpaper is cold on his bare back and Jonny's far away. Patrick makes a whining noise. Jonny comes back, at last, and drops an armful of white cotton over Patrick's head. Patrick fights to get his head out of the annoyingly frilly neckline of the nightshirt while Jonny helps, easing Patrick's hands into the sleeves and smoothing the fabric down. While Jonny is staring down at his own hands on Patrick's chest, Patrick tips forward until Jonny is forced to catch him. He's finally in Jonny's arms again. Jonny holds him close, and Patrick sighs.

At first he used to find it irritating that Jonny was so much taller than him, but actually at close quarters, the difference in their heights is extremely convenient. It puts Patrick's mouth right at the level of Jonny's neck and makes kissing him behind his ear so easy.

Jonny freezes in his arms. It's very obliging of him to hold still and let Patrick enjoy the contrast between the smooth skin of Jonny's neck and the squidgy lobe of his ear. Patrick presses his lips to Jonny's ear lobe, sucks on it a little, and lets it slip out of his mouth. He giggles at how it springs back like a miniature boxer's punch bag. It's silly, having such a soft thing right beside a jawline so sharp one could etch glass with it. Patrick moves his lips to kiss along Jonny's jaw and Jonny tips his head back, so then it's easy to kiss down the line of his neck. Jonny has a very long, very fine neck. It's a feature Patrick has long admired. If it were any longer, it would be like that of a giraffe.

Yes. Patrick nods. A sexy giraffe.

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Jonny laughs, but he sounds a little strained, too. 

Patrick must have said that out loud. Oh well.

Patrick doesn't answer, trails kisses along until his lips are nudging at the corner of Jonny's mouth. Jonny is breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Patrick pulls back enough to admire the length of Jonny's dark eyelashes, lifts a hand to rub his thumb over the flushed skin of Jonny's cheekbone, down the soft skin of his cheek, to the rough grain of his stubble.

Jonny opens his eyes and Patrick is looking at the rich brown of his pupils. They're so dilated in this low light that they're almost black. Patrick spends a long time, minutes, hours, lost in Jonny's eyes, before he can no longer resist leaning forward again to kiss Jonny. Jonny's lips are addictively soft.

Jonny surges against him. Jonny's lips are so delicious that Patrick opens his mouth a little, hungry for more. Jonny groans and deepens the kiss, and Patrick melts against him. Patrick's knees are liquid now, only Jonny's big body pressing him against the wall keeping him upright. Jonny's kisses make his heart pound, make his blood burn. Jonny tilts his head so he can kiss Patrick deeper, making Patrick clutch helplessly at Jonny's shirt front.

Jonny kisses him again and again. The back of Patrick's head bumps against the wall. Jonny makes a noise and cups his hand around the back of Patrick's head to cushion it against the wall. Jonny presses his whole body against Patrick and the pressure feels so good -- 

Jonny pulls away.

Patrick moans. “Please, Jonny --”

Jonny is still holding Patrick up. He locks his hands around Patrick's biceps. No other part of Jonny's body is touching Patrick's and it is so unfair. Patrick bites back a whimper.

“The champagne,” Jonny gasps. “I think it -- I think it went to your head. I think maybe it was spiked.”

Patrick shakes his head, and regrets it immediately as the room shudders around him. “I feel _fine_ , Jonny.” He licks his lips. “Kiss me again, please.”

Jonny closes his eyes. “Your – your underwear is wet, though I've barely touched you.”

“Is not!” Patrick protests.

“I can smell it, Patrick.”

Patrick blushes fiercely. He's glad Jonny is not looking at him.

“You're going into heat,” Jonny says.

“I'm not due for months --”

“I mean you're going into heat because of whatever was in your champagne. I knew it smelled strange. I should have -- You're going out of your senses.”

“Am not!”

Patrick frowns and leans forward again to kiss Jonny. Jonny straightens his elbows to keep Patrick away. Patrick whines and fights Jonny's grip but Jonny is stronger than Patrick is, damn him.

“You just don't want me,” Patrick whines.

“Seriously, Patrick,” Jonny says through his teeth, “that’s _not_ the problem. You're so fucking enticing.” He gives Patrick a little shake. “But you're not in your right mind.”

Patrick hangs his head. Jonny just doesn't want to touch him. The room's spinning faster and it's even hotter now. Sweat drips down his skin.

“Come on,” Jonny says, and manhandles Patrick into the bathroom. “Let's get you into the shower.” He helps Patrick out of the nightshirt he'd fought to get him in to only a few minutes before. 

Patrick seizes his chance as soon as he's nearly naked again, plastering himself to Jonny and going up on his toes for a kiss.

Jonny turns his head so Patrick's mouth lands on his cheek instead of his lips, and very gently pushes Patrick away. “ _Christ_ , Patrick, don't tempt a desperate man. For pity's sake, get in the blasted shower.”

When Patrick refuses, Jonny lifts Patrick bodily into the shower and turns on the water, setting it to a cool temperature. Patrick pouts but just trying to stay upright takes the only energy he has left. Jonny gets into the shower with him, fully clothed as he is.

He draws Patrick close with Patrick's back to Jonny's chest, wraps his arms around Patrick with one arm just below his collar bones and the other arm around his middle, and places them both directly under the spray. Patrick yelps as the spray drenches him. He holds on tight to Jonny's arm as sweat rolls down his skin and his head pounds and his dick throbs. The water hitting him feels like runoff from a glacier.

The cool water rushes down his face, splinters of ice washing his hot tears of frustration away. He drops his head back to rest on Jonny's shoulder, trying not to sob as the water rolls down his trembling body. Jonny just presses a kiss to Patrick’s soaked hair, holds Patrick still, and lets the water do its work.

When Patrick's shivering with cold, Jonny pushes him aside gently, enough so he can take a turn under the water too, then helps him out of the shower. He drapes Patrick in a giant bath towel before stripping off his own sodden clothes and throwing them aside. Jonny grabs another towel and swabs briskly at his long limbs with complete unselfconsciousness. Patrick's knees give way. He sits down rather abruptly on a nearby chair and tries, and completely fails, not to stare. Jonny rubs the towel over his dripping hair, over the muscular lines of his body, and then wraps it around his hips. He comes over and kneels beside Patrick.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Cold. Better.” Patrick's teeth are starting to chatter. He clutches the towel closer.

“A real heat would last at least a day or two. I know that's no comfort,” Jonny squeezes Patrick's shoulder, and just as Patrick is going to allow himself to lean into the touch, Jonny gets to his feet and moves away. “Your glass must have been dosed with something. I'll send for the doctor --”

“No!” Patrick says. “No, thank you. I don't feel sick now.”

“Feverish?” Jonny puts his hand on Patrick’s forehead to check his temperature.

“No, I swear, not at all. Just tired.” Hollow, exhausted. “Let's go to bed. I just want to lie down.” He wants to lie down with Jonny so badly. At least he can have that comfort.

“If you're sure --”

“Yes.” Patrick is sure that while his limbs and trunk feel encased in ice now, his face must be red with how he's been behaving. “I just want to go to bed.”

“As you wish. I'll get you some nightclothes.”

When they're both dried off and dressed in pajamas, Jonny pulls back the bedcovers so Patrick can get in the bed, plaster himself to Jonny’s warmth, and finally start to feel defrosted again. At least Jonny isn't afraid to be near Patrick, after he'd thrown himself at Jonny exactly like the awful stereotypes of omegas that he's heard people gossip about. Maybe it's because Patrick was probably dosed with something noxious, so Jonny doesn't think it's Patrick's fault?

Patrick almost wishes Jonny hadn't been able to resist the scent of a willing omega, but no, Jonny had found Patrick easy to resist. The thought makes Patrick's head hurt. 

Jonny is still awake, staring up at the ceiling. Patrick presses his face against Jonny's shoulder and sinks gratefully into the black and red space behind his eyelids.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next morning, Patrick wakes up when Jonny gets out of bed.

“Sorry, Patrick, didn't mean to wake you,” Jonny whispers. “You want to sleep more?”

“No, I'm coming with you.”

“How do you feel?”

Patrick rubs his head. It appears to still be attached. “Bit of a headache, nothing else. Fresh air will do me good.”

When they get to the stable block, they go to check on the carriage and the grooms from last night.

Duncan and Seabrook are in the middle of the stable yard with the grooms gathered around them. The carriage with the cracked axle has been retrieved. It looks like its wheels had been removed and the body of the carriage had been loaded onto a large hay cart to be brought back to the estate. Some of the grooms are unloading the wheels and others are unhitching the team of horses used to haul the cart.

“It was the strangest thing,” one of the grooms is saying. “We were in the middle of nowhere, it was pitch black and snowing, and surprise, surprise, Deane and company just happened to show up in the middle of the night in the middle of the forest.”

“Strange, that,” Seabrook says, acknowledging Patrick and Jonny's arrival with a nod.

Duncan is crouching down to look at the carriage's axle. “It looks to me like this was partly sawn through. Look, Jonny.”

Jonny folds his long body to get his head down far enough to look closely where Duncan is pointing. “Yeah, I can see it.” Jonny's flat tone seems in contrast to the barely suppressed anger on his face.

Another groom pipes up. “Deane said he was there to offer help. It was midnight. We were a long way from his lands. How did he know we needed help?”

“A very good question,” Jonny says. 

A third groom says, “His men checked every inch of the carriage. On the roof, the luggage compartment, even under the seats, everywhere. When they didn't find what they were looking for, they fanned out and searched the woods.”

“Interesting,” Seabrook says.

The first groom says, “When they didn't find anything, sir, they were pretty irritated. They were pushing and shoving us, saying rude things about sir.” He indicates which sir he means by tipping his head towards Patrick. “Don't ask me to repeat them. They were getting ready to fight us, and there were a lot of them.”

“And that's when the rest of you boys showed up with the hay cart?” Jonny says.

“Yes, my lord. And once there were almost as many of us as there were of them, they cut and run.”

Jonny smiles. “Tough lads. Good work. You did well, and I'll not forget this.”

There's a lot of ducked heads and shy smiles from the grooms.

“Well done, boys. Back to work now,” Seabrook says.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Seabrook, Duncan, Jonny and Patrick regroup in Sabre's box, the most private. Patrick sticks close to Sabre for warmth. Although the snow stopped falling some time during the night, it’s still very chilly. Patrick strokes Sabre's neck while they discuss the night’s events.

“Deane is getting really brazen,” Duncan says. “He set things up so he and his men would intercept you and your husband in the woods. It could have gone badly for you and Patrick if they hadn't misjudged the timing, and if you hadn't decided to return here by the woodland path instead of the road.”

“We were lucky this time. We have to keep our defences up. Make sure Patrick's not left alone, even on estate land, even at home,” Seabrook says.

“Yes.” Jonny's eyes are cold. “We must double the guard on the house and set watchmen on the estate perimeter. It might be a good idea to set a couple of the boys to watch Deane's mansion too. And make sure everyone is armed.” He turns to Patrick. “What are your thoughts on this?”

“What is Deane aiming to do?”

Jonny looks away. Has Patrick annoyed him by showing his ignorance?

“He wants to capture you and, forgive me for saying it, ransom you. Everyone knows his estate is mortgaged to the hilt,” Seabrook says. “He needs the cash.”

“Also he's a disgusting pervert,” Duncan says.

“Yes,” Seabrook says. “That too.”

“It's not just traditional attacks that we need to be concerned about. There's poison as well. I think Deane put something in Patrick's glass at the ball,” Jonny says.

Patrick tenses. Is Jonny is going to tell them how Patrick behaved? 

“He was feeling pretty rough by the time we got back here,” Jonny says. He looks back at Patrick. Jonny's eyes are dark with anger, but his tone is calm when he says, “Don't worry, Patrick. I'm going to keep you safe.” 

Duncan kicks Jonny's ankle. 

“ _We_ are going to keep you safe,” Jonny says.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next few weeks are rather disturbing. Jonny is taking the threat of Deane very seriously. Patrick is under guard at all times. On one hand, it's unnerving to see grooms who normally peacefully look after the horses pacing around the grounds, armed and watchful.

On the other hand, it's rather sweet that even the maids have taken it upon themselves to keep a careful eye on Patrick. The house maids patrol the corridors during the day. The laundry maids seem to have drawn up a rota. A different one turns up each night to sleep on a pallet outside Jonny and Patrick's bedroom door.

When he and Jonny have to go to the city on business, they are accompanied by Seabrook, Duncan, and a selection of staff, all of them armed.

It really seems like security is tight.

So the attack comes when he least expects it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jonny is in the study looking up some records after dinner. Patrick is going to distract him and suggest that they go to bed, when a footman shows a young woman into the hall. It's Agatha, the maid Patrick recognises from seeing her when visiting Sharpy and Abby's house. She's so distressed, she’s panting; she snatches a scarf from her disheveled hair and twists it between her hands when she sees Patrick.

“My lord, I need your help!”

“Agatha, what's wrong?”

“It's Maddie, my lord. She fell to the ground, she started shaking -- Mister Sharp and Mistress Abby are distraught -- they want you to send someone for the doctor.”

“Of course -- ” Patrick looks to the footman as the nearest messenger to send to get Sidney, expecting him to be heading back to his station at the door, but suddenly he is very close.

The footman punches Patrick hard in the jaw. He staggers back. The footman punches him again, and then Agatha claps her scarf over Patrick's nose and mouth, clinging onto him when he tries to shake her off. The cloth is wet and smells foul. Her nails dig into his face. The footman seizes him by the arms. Patrick struggles but his knees are weakening and his head is filling with what feels like wet sand.

He feels his head hit the floor, a bright spark of pain in the oncoming darkness, and then there's nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick wakes up on the floor of a moving cart. His hands are tightly bound in front of him; his ankles tied together too. He's wedged in between quantities of hay. There’s a canvas over the top of the cart. The footman is lying in the bottom of the cart too. He holds a knife in his hand. When he sees Patrick wake up, he pokes him in the throat with the tip of it, a warning to stay silent.

Fuck that.

Patrick opens his mouth to call for help.

The footman punches him until he passes out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This time when Patrick comes awake, he's lying on a cold surface. He opens his eyes to see the black and white tiles of the floor of a mansion's entrance hall, one he doesn’t recognise. Ice fills his stomach. He's still tied up. He looks around for something to cut the ropes with. There's nothing.

It doesn't matter anyway, as Deane and four other men enter the room. “Excellent,” Deane says, patting the footman on the back. “Well done, Robert.”

Isn't Robert Deane's son? Patrick remembers having met him at the ball at the Subban mansion. He should have recognised him when he came into the hall at Jonny’s with Agatha. Worrying about Maddie at the time distracted him, exactly as they intended. At least Maddie is probably not ill, Agatha was just lying her head off to capture his attention. That's one silver lining.

Jonny must be looking for him.

“Deane, how thoroughly unpleasant to see you again. Jonny is going to kill you,” Patrick says.

“Get him up on his feet,” Deane says. Robert and another man heave Patrick up. “Bring him into the front room.”

The men drag Patrick into a large sitting room and throw him belly-down across the back of a sofa. Deane steps up behind him and runs his creepy little hands over Patrick's thighs and ass.

“Get off me, you scumbag,” Patrick shouts, struggling to get away. The elaborate wood carving on top of the sofa’s back digs agonisingly into Patrick’s stomach. The pain’s preferable to the repulsive way Deane is taking liberties, tracing his fingers along Patrick’s inner thighs.

“I'm glad you're spirited.” Deane laughs. “I hate it when I fuck someone and they just lie there. Takes some of the fun out of it.”

“You're disgusting. You're a dead man,” Patrick spits. “Let me go now and maybe Jonny will spare your miserable life.”

Deane laughs again. “You talk big for a little omega whose alpha isn’t around.” He starts to tear at the waistband of Patrick's pants. Patrick kicks back with his heels. He manages to catch Deane's shin, making Deane curse in pain, but no matter how hard Patrick struggles, he can't free himself.

“Wait!” Robert says. “Better to bring him downstairs. It'll be more private.”

“Mmm. I don't need privacy to enjoy this omega.” Deane doesn't stop running his fingertips between Patrick's waistband and Patrick's skin while he considers. Patrick shudders in disgust.

“No witnesses, no one to say that the omega wasn’t willing,” Robert says.

“I’ve already sent the rest of the staff away, apart from you and the boys,” Deane says, rubbing his groin against Patrick.

“No worries about anyone showing up and seeing, then,” Robert says.

That makes up Deane's mind. “Good idea. Boys, take the little omega downstairs.” He takes a pistol out of his coat pocket and points it at Patrick, to make him compliant.

Patrick fights them all the way. He twists and wriggles and manages to get an elbow high enough to poke it into the eye of one of the men, and gets backhanded across his face. His lip splits; he tastes blood. He slams his head back into the face of another. He kicks out hard. But it's all to no avail as they manage to drag him down a stone staircase to a gloomy space lined with racks of wine bottles.

Deane lights a lamp as they shove Patrick up against the wall and tie his wrists to the upright of the nearest wine rack. Three of them hold him down as Robert strips him, Deane watching avidly.

Patrick pulls and tugs at his binding, but he's tied tightly. The wine rack must be built into the wall. When he puts his foot against the wall and heaves at the rack with all his strength, it doesn't budge an inch. He's trapped.

The look of lurid eagerness on Deane’s face is revolting.

Patrick puts his back in the corner formed where the wine rack meets the wall, protecting his spine and his mating gland. He twists his arm painfully in his bindings to grab one of the wine bottles by the neck, smashing it against the corner of the wine rack. He holds it out in front of him, the only weapon he has, the only defense. 

“Ah, look at the little omega, snarling like a kitten. So cute,” Deane says.

“You won't think I'm so cute when I'm cutting your throat,” Patrick says in as level a tone as he can. Nausea twists through his stomach. If he has to throw up, throwing up on Deane would be worthwhile. “I'd rather cut my _own_ throat than have you touch me, you horrible bastard.”

Deane just sneers. “If it were time for your heat, you’d be begging to be fucked already.” He flicks his eyes over his son and the other men. “Leave us.”

Robert's face crumples in disappointment. “Father, you said I could watch.”

“Out!”

Robert and Deane’s other henchmen sullenly troop up the stairs. 

Patrick tightens his grip on the neck of the broken bottle. His wedding and engagement rings clink against the glass.

Deane places his pistol on the floor to one side. He carefully takes off his brocade coat. He unbuttons his shirt and unfastens his belt, pulling it out of his belt loops.

Patrick braces himself to stab at Deane’s throat as soon as he comes near enough.

Jonny must be frantic.

Through the ceiling above his head, Patrick hears the sound of running feet.

Deane hears it too. “My boys. I did tell them to go, but they can't keep away. They want to watch.” Deane giggles. He starts undoing the fastening of his trousers; Patrick's urge to vomit intensifies. “We won't deny them their little pleasures, and I can see you're going to be feisty. They can hold you down for me.”

The door at the top of the staircase slams open so hard it crashes back against the wall.

“Come on, Robert! Come on, boys! I'm going to fuck him first -- I'll let you have a go at him after me,” Deane says.

“I'd rather _die!_ ” Patrick shrieks.

Deane just laughs as he gets out his cock. It's small and pale and looks like a maggot in the dim lamp light. Deane takes one step towards Patrick.

He doesn't get to take a second step.

Jonny runs down the stairs full-tilt, crashing straight into Deane and tumbling them both to the floor. Seabrook and Duncan are right behind him.

Seabrook and Duncan put their bodies between Patrick and the alphas trading wild punches on the floor. 

Duncan pulls a knife. “Still alive, boy? I'm glad to see it.” He starts sawing at the rope holding Patrick to the wine rack.

Jonny is sitting on Deane now, holding him in place with his left fist in his shirt, all his weight on that arm with his elbow locked. With his right fist, he punches Deane repeatedly in the face as hard as he can.

Deane's head bounces off the floor with every punch -- he's flailing, clawing at Jonny's snarling face, trying to push him away.

It's not working out too well for him.

Blood spills from Deane's mouth. He makes wet noises as he tries to breathe, as his attempts to push Jonny off weaken.

Seabrook goes closer to Jonny. “Stop, Jonny."

Jonny's punches don't slow.

"Jonny, stop. You're killing him," Duncan says.

Jonny's punches don't falter.

“Jonny, please. Stop!” Patrick says.

Jonny stops. He gets to his feet, breathing hard, and spits in Deane’s face. When he turns to Patrick, he looks feral. His eyes are black pits of rage. Blood drips from his clenched fists.

Patrick has never been so happy to see him.

Duncan has freed Patrick from the rope holding him to the wine rack and cut the rope binding his ankles. He's working on the rope binding Patrick's wrists together. Patrick is still gripping the neck of the broken bottle like his life depends on it, staring at Jonny over Duncan’s shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of movement behind Jonny.

“ _Jonny!_ ”

Jonny whirls to see Deane grabbing at his gun. Deane raises it and points it at Jonny.

Jonny lunges at Deane, grabs his wrist and slams it back against Deane’s chest just as Deane pulls the trigger.

Deane slumps back on the ground with a bullet in his throat. He splutters blood, then there is a wet gurgling sound, and then silence.

Seabrook kicks the weapon away from Deane's limp hand. He checks Deane’s pulse, probably making sure that he’s dead.

Duncan manages to sever the rope binding Patrick’s wrists.

As soon as Patrick's hands are free, he tosses the broken bottle aside, stumbling towards Jonny and holding his arms out to him.

Jonny lurches forward and wraps Patrick up in his arms, hugging him so hard that Patrick's feet leave the floor. Patrick's breath comes out as a sob. He gets a faceful of shirt collar and a noseful of Jonny's scent and is comforted to his soul.

Jonny holds him tighter, slides one hand into the curls at the back of Patrick's head, kisses Patrick's cheekbone, his cheek, his jaw and then his mouth like he's dying for it.

Their teeth clack together. Patrick's split lip stings under the bruising force of Jonny's mouth. It's still the best kiss of Patrick's life. 

There's a noise from the staircase. Patrick and Jonny break apart, look up to see Robert walking down the stairs. Robert's teeth grind in silent rage when his eyes fall on the corpse of his father. Duncan and Seabrook launch themselves at him but are too far away, too late to stop him raising his hand, pointing his pistol at Patrick.

Jonny doesn't hesitate -- he shoves Patrick behind him. Patrick wails in despair.

There's a sickening thud, not the crash of another bullet being fired.

Instead, Patrick hears Robert fall to his knees. Patrick peeks around Jonny.

Robert has a surprised look on his face. Then the pistol falls out of his hand. He pitches forward face-first onto the floor.

Robert's dead.

The handle of a knife is sticking out of his back.

With Robert on the floor, Patrick can see behind him; Sharpy saunters down the staircase. He sweeps the basement with a glance. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he says. “I'm happy to see everyone's all right.” He goes to Robert's body and tries to pull his knife out of Robert's back. It must have stuck in a bone, because it resists. “Apart from this pair of bastards, but who cares about them?” Sharpy puts his foot on Robert's back and wrenches his knife out of Robert’s corpse. He uses Robert’s shirt to wipe the blood off the blade.

Jonny takes his coat off and wraps it around Patrick, helping him slide his arms into the sleeves. “Let's get out of this fucking hellhole.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick knows that Duncan and Seabrook followed them up from the basement. They were there as Jonny and Patrick and Sharpy walked quickly and quietly through the corridors, passing all the bodies of the men they'd killed on their way to rescue Patrick.

Once they get outside to the blessed clean air and the horses, Duncan and Seabrook are nowhere to be seen.

“Jonny, where are Duncan and Seabrook?”

Jonny lifts him up into Midnight's saddle. “Grab the reins there. Duncan and Seabrook will be out in a minute. They have one small task to do.” Sharpy gives Jonny a boost into the saddle, behind Patrick, and then goes to untie his own horse and the other two horses, the mounts for the missing men. 

They wait for only a few endless minutes until Seabrooks appears at an open window above them. “We'll be down in just a moment.”

The dark windows of the house light up one by one. Is it the other members of the household waking up? Patrick trembles in Jonny's arms. He wishes Duncan and Seabrook would hurry.

He's hardly had the thought when Duncan dashes out the door, Seabrook on his heels, and they mount their horses. “Hold on tight, my love,” Jonny says, tightening his arms around Patrick. “Here we go.” He wheels Midnight around and the others follow him in a flat gallop for the main gate.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When they get close enough to see the house, there's mayhem. Every door and window is open, every lamp is on, light spilling out into the darkness everywhere they look. It seems the entire staff are milling about on the gravel in front of the house; when they catch sight of Jonny and Patrick and the others returning, a ragged series of cheers welcomes them home.

Abby is pacing in front of the front door, her hair loose and her fists on her hips. Sharpy slides off his horse and into her arms. The expressions on their faces as they embrace make Patrick feel he's intruding just by witnessing them. He looks away.

Duncan and Seabrook's wives are waiting for them too. Patrick's slightly embarrassed to realise that he doesn't know their names. The fierce hugs they give their husbands and then the group hug all four share in makes Patrick smile.

There's a carriage beside the house. Patrick thinks it's Sidney's.

Knight the housekeeper welcomes Jonny and Patrick back with a quavering note in her voice.

“Thank you, Hilary," Jonny says, dismounting from Midnight. "Please get everyone inside. Is Crosby here?”

“Yes, my lord. He's looking after the injured footman. I'll call him for you.”

“Excellent. We'll be in our rooms. Have Crosby and a meal sent up as soon as you can. I realise that it's nearly midnight, nonetheless see that everyone's fed and watered.”

Hilary nods. “I'm glad to see you both safe, my lords.” She flashes a smile at Patrick and sets off to make the arrangements, as grooms rush forward to take charge of Midnight and the other horses.

Jonny turns to Patrick and puts his arms up to help him off the horse. Jonny is about to gather Patrick up in his arms and carry him into the house, Patrick is pretty sure. Patrick puts his hand on Jonny's shoulder. “Jonny, please let me walk inside.” He really wants to walk into their house under his own power, not be carried in, no matter how considerately Jonny means it, no matter about how the cuts on his feet are going to feel on the gravel. He's pretty numb from cold now anyway.

Jonny meets his eyes. “Of course, Patrick." He stands back to let Patrick dismount on his own.

Patrick slides down off the horse to the ground, proud of himself for successfully not falling over.

Jonny gives him a courtly little bow. "Patrick, may I ask you to take my arm?”

Patrick does, and they make their way inside. Patrick would normally be embarrassed to be filthy, barefoot, and wearing only a coat. Right now he couldn't care less. At least, wearing Jonny's coat, it covers him from his neck almost to his ankles. There are more important things to think about, such as -- “I saw Abby out there. Are her girls safe?”

Jonny stops dead. “What do you mean?”

“Abby's maid, Agatha. She drugged me and helped Robert Deane kidnap me. Abby and Sharpy's children aren't safe with her around.”

Jonny calls a maid over. “Bring me the Sharps.”

Abby and Sharpy are brought to them. Patrick ignores the traces of tears in Sharpy's eyes from the emotion of their reunion, and tells them about Agatha's recent actions.

Abby and Sharpy are both enraged, however, there's no immediate danger, it seems. “Our girls are upstairs in one of the guest rooms, with my parents,” Abby says.

“I took the liberty of installing them there. We thought it safer than Abby being left alone with the girls in our house, in the circumstances,” Sharpy says.

“Good thinking,” Jonny says.

“Agatha hasn't been seen at our house for a couple of days. She told me she had to go visit her family again,” Abby says.

“Have Hilary inform everyone that if Agatha shows up, she's to be apprehended. Tell Duncan and Seabrook to make sure everything’s secure. Then go be with your girls,” Jonny says.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Up in Patrick's bathroom, Jonny sets a footman outside the suite's door to intercept anyone coming up and ask them to wait.

“Would you like a bath?” Jonny asks.

Patrick nods so hard it feels like his head might fall off.

Jonny doesn't call his valet or another staff member. He washes Deane's blood off his hands at the basin, and draws Patrick's bath personally.

Maybe Jonny wants some peace and quiet for Patrick for a while before they have to interact with other people again. Or maybe he thinks that Patrick could do with having some privacy while he's naked, after everything that's happened this evening. He's right on both counts. Patrick watches the water cascade into the huge tub, Jonny sprinkling fragrant bath salts with a liberal hand.

He takes off Jonny's coat and throws it on a chair. It'll have to be laundered at some point.

Jonny averts his eyes considerately from Patrick's nakedness while helping him step into the hot water. Jonny places the soap, sponge, towels, and other necessities in arm's reach and then heads for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought I'd shower in my bathroom. Give you some time to yourself,” Jonny says.

“I don't want time to myself, Jonny. Stay with me,” Patrick says, not caring how pathetic it sounds.

“Of course I'll stay.” In fact, Jonny hovers, rearranging the towels. “Do you want me to wash your back?”

“Yes. No,” Patrick says. He wants Jonny to get in the water with him. The hot water is making it hard to think. Probably the exhaustion and the residual terror aren't helping either.

“Do you want me to wash half of your back?”

“No, smartass, I want you to get in the tub with me.”

Jonny's mouth opens. “Certainly, if you wish it.”

He strips off quickly, hurling his clothes in the corner, tidy as ever. Patrick does not avert his eyes from Jonny's nakedness. He scoots up in the tub to make room for Jonny at his back, although the tub is so large that it could probably fit both of them and Midnight in there.

Jonny gets in carefully, putting one long leg on either side of Patrick. Patrick gives a groan, leaning back and resting his head on Jonny's shoulder, his spine on Jonny's chest. For long minutes, Patrick simply rests there, soaking up the warmth of the water and of Jonny’s arms around him. Jonny puts his hands over the rope marks on Patrick's wrists, hiding the damage. Patrick floats in the hot water, letting the scent of the bath salts clean the last traces of the stench of blood and gunpowder out of his lungs.

Although he'd rather like to stay here all night, sooner or later, they are going to have to get out of the tub. Which means they have to wash. Patrick gets the soap and gives it to Jonny. “Wash my back?”

“Just half or the entire thing?”

“Shut up and scrub.”

When Patrick's back is clean, Jonny asks, “Shall I keep going?”

Patrick's answer is a humming sound.

Jonny soaps up the sponge again and scrubs every inch of Patrick, clucking like a distressed hen over the bruises already starting to bloom on Patrick's skin. He scrubs Patrick's hair, then rinses it with great squeezes of the soaked sponge. He cleans all the cuts gently but very thoroughly, which stings a bit but is better than leaving any of Deane's filth on him. The whole process is so soothing that Patrick's feeling considerably more relaxed by the end. “I have a great career opportunity for you, Jonny?”

“Oh yes?” Jonny says softly by Patrick's ear.

Patrick smiles. “Yes, I'd like to offer you a permanent job as my valet. You're much better at all of this than Sharpy.”

Jonny laughs. “Glad you think so. I could make my fortune. Though I think Sharpy’s better with a blade than I am.” He taps Patrick on the hip. “Up with you. We need to shower all this soap and dirt off.”

Jonny gets out of the bath like the lithe bastard he is. He drags Patrick into the shower. Jonny is probably right that they were so dirty that the bathwater is probably a soup of all kinds of noxious substances. Patrick's so tired he could fall asleep leaning against the shower wall. He just stands there and lets Jonny rinse his hair and skin. He stands there while Jonny moves the necessary minimum distance away to wash himself too. Patrick only makes a noise of protest when Jonny takes Patrick's rings off.

“Shush, Patrick, I'm just cleaning them.” He scrubs Patrick's hands and the rings, and then replaces them. He looks up from the rings and the tenderness in Jonny's eyes nearly makes Patrick start crying again. They get out of the shower, and he stands there while Jonny dries them both. He's reaching new heights of indolence.

Wrapped in bath towels, they go hand in hand to the bedroom. Jonny gets them both dressed, in underwear and a dressing gown for himself, and in pajamas and a dressing gown for Patrick, with only a little in the way of help from Patrick, if not immediately face-planting in the bed can be counted as help.

It's surreal that Patrick is back home, back here in this room, warm, clean and safe, with Jonny. Only a little while ago, he was at the mercy of degenerates, dirty, terrified, alone, hurt, and about to be hurt much worse. In his new and miraculous state of relief and happiness, he slides his arms around Jonny and holds on tight.

Jonny hugs him back and kisses his newly washed head over and over. “I'm so sorry.”

“What for? You saved me.”

“Deane got his hands on you. You were in danger. It was my fault.”

Patrick squeezes Jonny harder. “You _saved_ me from Deane. I'm here, I'm safe, I'm happy. So happy.” He strokes a hand tenderly over the bruising on Jonny's jaw. “And the Deane problem is permanently solved. It's not going to happen again.”

Jonny kisses Patrick's fingers. “It's definitely not going to happen again,” he says with the certainty of a man who has recently seen his enemy and his enemy’s son die. It's perhaps a macabre thought. Patrick finds comfort in it anyway.

There's a knock at the door. It's the footman, who apparently has been holding Sidney and some maids bearing dinner back for a while.

“We'll have tea and see Sidney in my dressing room.”

Jonny's dressing room is huge. Of course. Patrick is glad they're doing this here, instead of their room. He thinks he'll want their room to be just for them for some time.

The maids arrange the tea tray on the table, and exit, smiling shyly at Jonny and Patrick as they go.

Sidney comes in, bearing his medical bag and a concerned expression.

“My lords! How are you both?”

Jonny briefly recounts the night's events, glossing over the part where Deane and his son met their deaths. Nonetheless, Sidney's eyes grow wider and wider.

“How is the injured footman?” Jonny says. “That's how they gained access to the house, Patrick. Agatha and Robert blackmailed and threatened one of the junior footmen, and did their best to kill him when they were done with him.”

“Yes, a dreadful business. The young lad, Highmore, I think is his name, has been badly concussed and will take some time to recover. He's extremely remorseful, Jonny. I hope you can be lenient with him,” Sidney says.

“I'll consider it,” Jonny says shortly. “Never mind him now. Please look after Patrick.”

Sidney pats Patrick gently on the knee and starts to check him over from bruised head to cut up toes. When he finishes, while he bandages Patrick’s feet, he says, “I think you are pretty much hurt all over with cuts, scrapes, bruises, abrasions, and while it won't be fun for the next few days, it'll all heal. If you experience any swelling or high fever, call for me. You should stay off your feet for a day or two. Did -- Do you have any concerns -- I mean, what would you like to do about the aftermath of the sexual assault?”

Beside Patrick, Jonny has gone very still.

Sidney's cheeks are red. He soldiers on. “Forgive me for bringing it up. I have to ask, would you like some medicine to prevent any chance of conception? I have a compound that's effective. It's unpleasant, it'll make you very sick for a few days. Still, it might be preferable -- ”

“Deane didn't rape me,” Patrick says. He doesn’t look at Jonny, seeing him sag with relief out of the corner of his eye. “He was about to, he was definitely about to. Jonny rescued me in time.” It occurs to Patrick that they left Deane's body lying in that stinking basement with his midget dick sticking out of his pants. Patrick starts to giggle.

Sidney pats Patrick gently on the knee again. “Thank God. Thank God, Patrick.”

Patrick bursts into tears. “Yes, thank God,” he manages to say between sniffles. Jonny kneels beside Patrick and puts his arms around him. It just makes him cry harder.

Sidney looks like he’s about to cry too.

Patrick says, “I don't know why I'm crying!”

“Shock, Patrick. Shock. You've been through a horrible experience. Just because it wasn't even more horrific doesn't mean you won't be upset for the next while. It's understandable,” Sidney says. “Jonny's upset too. Look at him.”

Patrick duly looks at Jonny, and can't stop himself from putting his arms around him when he sees the depth of sorrow in his eyes. They hold each other close for a long moment.

Sidney says, “You two need to get some food inside you and get some sleep.” He checks Jonny over too, diagnosing him with bruising and split knuckles to go with shock. Sidney puts some medications on the table, pills for pain, an ointment for the cuts, a cream for the bruises, and issues them with instructions for their use. Then he promises to check back in with them in a few days, and takes his leave.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Here, let's have a bite to eat, like the doctor says. Everything else can wait until the morning,” Jonny says.

Patrick nibbles on some bread and ham, and drinks some rapidly cooling tea that Jonny pours for him. Jonny mechanically eats a slice of fruitcake and knocks back a cup of tea as well.

Patrick fumbles his plate back on the tray. “Thank you for rescuing me. Did I thank you before? I should have.”

“You don't need to thank me, Patrick.”

“I'm grateful! And... thank you for killing him, even if it was sort of accidental with the pistol and everything. I wouldn't want to think he was still out there.” Patrick gestures vaguely with his tea cup, indicating the outside world.

“To be honest, Patrick, I wasn't really planning on killing him.”

“No?” Patrick puts down his cup. It rattles against the saucer.

“No,” Jonny says heavily. “It wasn’t planned. It was instinctive. I started hitting him and I couldn't stop. Until you told me to.”

“Oh.”

There's a pause.

“Because he was going to sully your property?” Patrick asks timidly.

“Because he was going to hurt you!” Jonny snaps.

Patrick stares at Jonny.

Jonny stands up and paces to the fireside. “I would have killed him just for touching your hand in the bathroom at our wedding reception, for giving you even a moment's distress, never mind kidnapping you and taking you away from me and _hurting_ you -- and trying to hurt you even more badly.”

“Oh,” Patrick says. “I didn't know.” Patrick has seen how protective Jonny is of everything that belongs to him, from the horses to the tenants on his estate.

“I don't think you understand.”

Patrick, admittedly, doesn’t.

“I am sorry he ended up dead,” Jonny says. 

“Yes, perhaps it was an overreaction -- you could have got in trouble with the law --” Patrick babbles. In fact, Jonny still could. It doesn't seem like a good moment to mention the possibility.

“No, I mean -- I mean I would have liked to make him suffer first.”

“Oh,” Patrick says. That seems rather grim, although quite reasonable. Patrick would quite like to go back to that basement and give Deane's corpse a kick or two, himself. He stands up, steadying himself with a hand on the table edge.

“I don't mean to frighten you, Patrick.”

“I'm not frightened of you,” Patrick says. “I don't think I've ever been frightened of you.”

Jonny looks up. There's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. “What -- what do you mean?”

“You rescued me. You saved my life.”

Jonny steps closer. “You keep saying that, like I did you a favour, instead of --” Jonny shakes his head. “I think we're so tired that we're going around in circles.” He sighs. “I don't want you to think that you have to allow me to touch you. But may I hold your hand?”

Patrick gives Jonny his hand. He's quite proud that it's only shaking the smallest amount.

Jonny takes Patrick's hand and holds it in both of his. He strokes his thumbs over the back of Patrick's hand. Just as he did at their wedding, he bends, raises it to his face and presses a kiss to the back of Patrick's hand. Then he kisses each abraded knuckle one after another very softly, so softly that it doesn't sting much at all. When he gets to Patrick's thumb, he starts over at Patrick's pinky and does it again. And again. It feels like Jonny would be happy to stand here in this quiet room doing this, for the whole night, and if Patrick were feeling better, he'd be quite happy to let him.

Patrick feels so dizzy and chilled, except for his hand, warm and tingling in Jonny's grip, under the touch of Jonny's cherishing kisses. Patrick feels somewhat jealous of his own hand, which is ridiculous. It would be better to lie down now with Jonny and get some rest. The warmth of the bath has drained away. He's so exhausted he's swaying where he stands. And Jonny must be tired too, from searching for him, and all the fighting and rescuing and so forth.

“May we go to bed?” Patrick says.

Jonny doesn't let go of Patrick's hand; he looks up. His face is unreadable.

“Just to sleep,” Patrick says.

“Of course,” Jonny says, and squeezes Patrick's fingers before letting them go. Patrick has a split second to regret that Jonny has stopped touching him before Jonny steps forward and sweeps Patrick up in his arms. Patrick gasps, flailing and kicking for a second.

Jonny freezes. “I'm sorry, I should have asked first if this was all right with you. I just thought-- your feet--”

“It's fine!” Patrick says. He might be getting a little lightheaded. He puts an arm around Jonny's neck for better balance. Jonny smiles down at him and Patrick thinks, to hell with it, and rests his aching head on Jonny's shoulder.

Jonny carries him to their room, placing him carefully on their bed. Patrick just lies there for a moment, so worn out that he's grateful simply to be horizontal, while Jonny puts the covers over him and actually tucks him in. Patrick hasn't been tucked into bed since he was a small boy and suddenly his eyes are full of tears. He turns his face away so Jonny doesn't see.

“Good night,” Jonny says, making for the door.

Patrick turns to glare at him. “Where are you going now?”

“I thought I'd -- I'd sleep in a guest room.”

“For pity's sake, why?”

Jonny turns his gaze to the floor. “I don't want to impose, after everything you've been through. Just call me if you need anything.”

“I do need something. I'm cold, I need you to get in bed with me.”

Jonny's face lightens. He strips off his dressing gown, throwing it to one side as bloody usual, and then stands there in only his underwear, hesitating. It's very un-Jonny-like of him.

“I can get some pajamas --”

Patrick lifts the side of the covers and an eyebrow.

Jonny slides under the covers and lies on his back a careful distance from Patrick.

Patrick rolls over and slings an arm over Jonny. Jonny tugs him even closer and wraps his arms around him. Patrick buries his face in the crook of Jonny's neck, rubbing his cold nose on Jonny's warm skin, breathing in Jonny's familiar and delicious scent. He tucks his cold feet against Jonny's shins and considering all the events of the evening, feels justified in ignoring his slight flinch.

Patrick lets out a huge sigh, delighting in how his breath bounces off Jonny's skin and warms his face. “So cosy.”

Jonny's chuckle is barely audible. He holds Patrick even closer and kisses Patrick's temple. “My sweet Patrick. Sleep well.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Patrick wakes up the next morning, he is still in Jonny's arms.

Patrick doesn't really want to move, but his mouth is dry, his head aches and his wrists and feet hurt too. And he needs to pee. He tries to slide out of the bed without disturbing Jonny, but as soon as he goes to move, Jonny, still asleep, clasps him tighter and makes a low rumbling sound.

“Jonny, I need to get up,” Patrick whispers.

Jonny makes another grumbling noise. He doesn't otherwise move for a moment, then he wakes up, bolting up to a sitting position, looking around the room on high alert.

Seeing no threats, he narrows his eyes and gives Patrick some scrutiny. “How are you? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, “I just need to -- ” He jerks his head towards the bathroom door and regrets it as his head rings like a bell.

Jonny lets go of him and he heads for the bathroom door.

All they do for the rest of the day is rest. Jonny keeps Patrick within arm's reach for the whole morning and keeps the staff on their toes with frequent calls for meals and drinks, extra cushions and blankets, and any little thing he can think of to spoil Patrick. Patrick is happy just to be safe and free and tucked into Jonny's side as they spend most of the early part of the day on the sofa before the fire. By the time afternoon is heading for evening, Patrick finishes off his latest heavily buttered crumpet and claps a hand over his mouth to smother a yawn.

Patrick tips his head back against one of the many cushions that Jonny has surrounded him with. “All this laziness is all very well, but yawning when it's not even close to evening is going a bit far.”

Jonny huffs a laugh.

“Would you like to go for a drive?” Jonny suggests, having run out of sweetmeats and copies of the newspapers to tempt Patrick with, temporarily.

Patrick stretches. “Yes, a little fresh air would be nice.”

Jonny rings the bell yet again, this time to have one of the carriages brought round. By chance, it's the same one that they used for their tour of the estate on the morning after their wedding night. Patrick smiles to see it again. How differently he feels now.

In the hall, Jonny helps him into a coat, wraps a long scarf around his neck, and places a hat on his head, despite Patrick's protests that he's perfectly capable of equipping himself with outerwear. Jonny takes Patrick's hand and rests it on his arm, supporting him on the very short walk out to where the carriage waits. Jonny waves the footman away and doesn't so much help Patrick into the carriage as just bodily lift him up there. Jonny climbs up after him, draping a blanket over their laps and taking Patrick's hand in his.

It's a beautiful afternoon out.

“I'm going to politely ignore the fact that you're clucking over me like a mother hen,” Patrick says.

“That's good of you,” Jonny says, and then orders the driver to proceed.

“I'm full of forbearance,” Patrick says.

“You're certainly full of something.” Jonny grins as Patrick elbows him, and settles back with the satisfied air of someone who is master of all he surveys. Which, of course, he is.

He puts his arm around Patrick and shamelessly snuggles him, out in public and everything. Patrick very graciously allows himself to be snuggled. The rug is very comfortable and Jonny's body is a long line of heat against Patrick's side. Being out under the open sky with the cool wind on his face is delightfully refreshing.

The driver takes them on a slow circuit of the home park, long enough to enjoy the air and the scenery without it being fatiguing. Patrick relaxes into the carriage seats and lets the trees, the fields, and the beautiful views just pass in front of his eyes. They overtake some of Jonny's tenants who wave cheerily. Jonny and Patrick wave back.

Jonny's horses in the paddocks nearest the house whinny when they see the carriage on the road, and come over to the fence so Jonny can spoil them rotten with sugar lumps. Sabre and Midnight get two lumps each. Blatant favouritism. Patrick approves.

“Do you always keep sugar lumps for the horses in your pockets?” Patrick says.

“No,” Jonny lies.

Patrick laughs.

By the time they arrive back at the house, another carriage is parked outside. It's Sidney's.

“He's here again?” Patrick says. Not that Patrick doesn't like Sidney.

“I asked him to come and check your injuries.” Jonny helps Patrick down from the carriage – Patrick can't waste the energy right now to point out that he's perfectly capable of getting down without assistance -- and they go to join Sidney.

Sidney is as professional and gentle with checking Patrick over as he was last night. “You did a good job on caring for these.” He finishes examining each cut on Patrick's soles. “Yes, as I thought, nothing deep enough to need stitching. Everything looks good.”

“That's fairly miraculous, considering I was barefoot in a cobwebby old wine cellar.”

Sidney checks a laceration on Patrick's ankle. “Perhaps that helped, in fact. I have a working theory that spiderwebs have a medicinal value when applied to wounds in sufficient quantity. Well, no matter. The main thing is that healing is progressing. Any questions or problems? Anything bothering you?”

“No,” Patrick says. “I could ask you to tell Jonny to stop fussing, though.”

“Stop fussing, your lordship!” Sidney says obediently. Jonny laughs. “Seriously. Patrick is on the road to recovery. No need to worry. Stay off your feet as much as possible, Patrick, keep these cuts clean, and all should be well.”

Jonny thanks Sidney for his professional attention and ushers him out himself. Patrick sits back in his seat while he waits for Jonny to return from the epic trek to the front door, and wriggles his rapidly healing toes. The thought occurs to him that he should perhaps be worrying about clean up of another kind. What if someone comes across the bodies of Deane and his son? What if Jonny gets in trouble?

When Jonny comes back, he must see the worried look on Patrick's face because he hastens to his side. “What's wrong? Patrick, what's wrong?”

“I'm just-- I'm just thinking about Deane. About his, you know, body. And his son’s body. What if someone realises that we were there when he died?”

“You mean, what if someone thinks I killed them?” Jonny says. He retakes his seat beside Patrick and strokes Patrick's back. “If the authorities were to realise that I ended Deane's repellent life, and that of his equally repellent son, I would happily own up to it. I'm glad the world is rid of the Deanes.”

Patrick is a little disturbed by Jonny's calm appraisal of last night’s events. What does that say about Patrick's morals? If he even has any at this stage? He'd been crouched to spring at Deane's throat with a broken bottle, fully intent on shoving it through to Deane's backbone, if he actually had one, if necessary, when Jonny arrived. 

“Anyway,” Jonny says, “even it all comes out, it was self-defence. And it’s not going to come out. That’s not going to happen. There's no need to worry. Seabrook and Duncan took care of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jonny shrugs as well as he can with his arm around Patrick. “On my orders, they set fire to the house.”

“Good God!”

Jonny shrugs again. “It was the simplest method to cover my tracks. Deane's house is a smoking ruin by now. I wouldn't worry about it, or him, ever again.” Jonny continues stroking Patrick's back as he speaks, while it might be a tad bizarre to be discussing arson, snug in front of a fireplace while getting his back rubbed, Patrick is more than happy to just go with it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It doesn't take long for Patrick to heal. By the end of a week, the bruises that dappled his skin are fading. By the end of the following week, the cuts have closed and sealed. His split lip is a memory.

The nightmares take longer to resolve. Patrick does wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes, sweating and shaking. Jonny always mumbles sweet nonsense to him, holding him close, stroking his back, and soothing him back to sleep.

The bad dreams visit less and less as the days pass, until in time, Patrick’s slumber is undisturbed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One fine morning, Sharpy and Abby and Patrick are out in one of the glasshouses in the kitchen garden. Sharpy and Patrick, still in his riding clothes, are making mud pies with Maddie, while Abby sits on a sack of flower seeds, cradling her new daughter and laughing at them. Maddie has just slapped a handful of mud on Patrick's face when a footman arrives at the glasshouse door.

Patrick expects the footman to say why Jonny is delayed in joining them; instead he says to Patrick, “Lord Toews wishes to speak with you, sir. He's waiting for you in the front hall.”

Abby twirls one of baby Sadie's curls around her fingertip. “Oh, you'd better get your head under the pump before you show your face in the house.”

“See you and Jonny in our house for dinner later,” Sharpy says. “I’m cooking.”

“Don’t let that put you off, though,” Abby says. “I’ve been schooling him.”

Patrick blows kisses to Maddie and the little one before going to rinse the worst of the mud off under the pump the gardeners use for filling buckets. It's a warm day for the early part of November, so he just shakes off the water like a dog and jogs into the house through the back door.

Jonny is waiting for him. He's fully and formally dressed as though they are going to the city, staring out the open front door, standing tall and straight on the lowest step of the grand staircase.

“Jonny!”

Jonny turns stiffly when he hears Patrick. His face is pale and blank. His eyes trace the water sticking Patrick’s shirt to his chest. “Patrick.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, Patrick.” Jonny's tone is measured and even. “In fact, I’m pleased to say that I have good news.”

“Great! What is it?”

“My immigration papers have come through. I wish to inform you that I'm now in a position to release you from our agreement.”

“Release me? What?”

“As you know, your family’s financial situation has been resolved. No need to worry. I’ll send you my lawyer to confirm that. Your belongings are being loaded for your departure. You’re welcome to keep Sabre, the jewellery I gave you, all of that. You are free to go.”

Jonny turns on his heel and begins to mount the stairs.

Patrick is frozen in shock for a second.

Free to go? What does Jonny mean?

Patrick runs up the stairs to catch Jonny. Jonny reaches the landing before him.

Patrick sprints along the landing, catching Jonny's wrist. “Wait, Jonny --”

Jonny twists his arm out of Patrick's grip and speeds up even more, covering the remaining distance to his suite's door in a few long strides. Patrick grips the bannister and watches Jonny open the door to his suite. “Jonny -- “

“Goodbye, Patrick. I wish you well for the future. Leave now, please,” Jonny says over his shoulder. Then he goes into his suite and closes the door behind him. Patrick hears the bolt slide closed.

Afterwards, Patrick isn't sure how long he stands at the top of the stairs. At some point, a maid scurries across the hall below and disappears into the east wing.

He feels tears slip down his face as he stands there. There is no sound from inside the suite. Patrick's chest feels empty; his head feels full of broken glass. He feels very aware of the residue of mud on his face. He grips the bannister and looks down to the stone-tiled floor a long drop below. It would be very easy to slip over the bannister.

He's hardly formed the thought when he thinks better of it. It would devastate his sisters, his mother.

They still care about what happens to him.

Patrick blinks hard and looks out the window. Sabre is outside, a groom tying his halter to the rear of a carriage. Other grooms are loading boxes and trunks.

Sharpy and Abby come around the corner of the house, Sadie in Sharpy's arms and Maddie toddling along between them with her hand in her mother’s hand. Maddie’s dress is mostly mud by this point. Sharpy and Abby look at the carriage being loaded and look at each other in bafflement, then they walk onwards towards their house.

Patrick waits until they are out of sight. He rubs a hand over his face to get rid of the tears, descends the stairs and goes to the carriage. Dach is supervising the loading. He sees Patrick but doesn't say anything, which is just as well as Patrick would probably start crying again if Dach shows him any disdain, or worse, sympathy.

Patrick pats Sabre. He's glad he gets to keep him. He unties Sabre's halter and gets into his saddle. When the carriage is loaded, Dach slaps Sabre on the hindquarters to make him start walking, and simple as that, Patrick is leaving his married life behind.

He doesn’t let himself look back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When he reaches the townhouse, Patrick is glad to see his sisters and mother. They are full of questions that he cannot answer fully as he's bewildered too.

He assures them as best he can that their situation will not change materially due to the situation with Lord Toews. He doesn’t know if this is true.

As soon as he can, he goes upstairs, locks himself in a guest room, lies on the bed without troubling to undress, and weeps.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, when he comes downstairs, he finds two footmen in the dining room.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Lord Toews's orders, sir,” one of them says.

Erica is sipping juice at the table. “Good morning, Patrick. They've moved all your stuff into the house.” She makes eye contact with the prettier of the two footmen; he blushes. At least Erica is happy about this situation.

Jacqueline butters a slice of toast. “You knew that Jonny saw to it that our house is fully staffed.”

“I didn’t realise that included actual footmen.”

“Replacement staff will arrive on a regular schedule, sir,” the pretty footman says. 

Maybe Jonny is intending to keep in touch then? Patrick tries not to hope that this is just a temporary estrangement.

Patrick doesn’t feel like eating. He sits and keeps his mother and sisters company while they break their fast. The meal is just finishing when a maid comes to say that a lawyer has called wishing to see Patrick. Patrick tells her to show him into the study.

Is this someone with a message from Jonny? Is this visitor going to serve divorce papers on Patrick?

Only one way to find out.

Patrick gets to his feet, trying to avoid the sympathetic looks from his sisters and his mother, and goes to meet the lawyer.

The lawyer is Bettman. Bettman is the man whom Patrick overheard in Jonny’s study the morning after their wedding. Patrick didn’t know him at that time; he and Jonny have done plenty of business with him and his firm since then.

“I’m pleased to see you again, your lordship,” Bettman says.

Patrick’s not sure what he says in return. It must sound normal enough. He gestures at the chairs at the desk to ask Bettman to take a seat.

“I’ve been asked by my client, Lord Toews, to come and see you to ensure that you are in possession of certain facts,” Bettman says. He takes a thick packet of papers out of his briefcase, and spreads them across the desk. “Firstly, my lord, here are the papers confirming that your late father’s debts have been cleared.”

Patrick nods. Jonny had already shown him these, early in their marriage. He will always be grateful.

“Here, we have the property deeds for this house. As you can see, the deeds have been made over to you, and you own it outright. The same applies to the horse, Sabre. His ownership has been made over to you as well, sir.”

Patrick clears his throat. “I see.”

Bettman shows him another section of paperwork. “These are the trusts that Lord Toews has authorised me to set up. As you will see, they are designed and have been endowed to provide for a substantial dowry and annual income for each of your sisters. There is another for your mother, arranging for an annual income for her, and another for you, sir, the same. You can check the figures, and assure yourself that they are for significant funds.”

Patrick skims through the papers. All seems to be as Bettman has outlined.

“You should be aware that these transfers are permanent," Bettman says. The trusts are irrevocable and iron-clad. At Lord Toews’s instruction, I have drawn up the documents so that even if, God forbid, Lord Toews were to be declared bankrupt or were to pass away tomorrow, it will not touch the Kane family’s financial situation.” Bettman glances at Patrick’s face. “If I may put it in crude terms, Lord Toews has ensured that you, your mother, and your sisters are set for life.”

Jonny has been more than generous. He’s kept his word, Patrick can’t fault him, even though he did not have to once he sent Patrick away.

“Did Lord Toews have any message for me?” Patrick says.

Bettman shakes his head. “No, my lord. Lord Toews sent no message. His lordship asks only that you peruse the papers I've brought to your attention today, and personally I advise that you engage your own independent counsel to satisfy yourself as to the veracity of these matters.”

“Is all of this preparation for divorce proceedings? Is that why he’s sent you?”

“No, sir. He’s said nothing about that. If you wish to bring proceedings yourself, that is up to you. He simply wishes to see that you are in no doubt that your financial difficulties are at an end. You’re an independently wealthy young man now.”

Patrick was almost hoping that Bettman would tell him that Jonny planned to start divorce proceedings. Then he would have reason to storm over to Jonny’s estate and throw these damned papers in his arrogant face and deny him a divorce. Anything to get his attention, to get to see him. 

Patrick’s disgusted with himself, with how desperate he is to see a man who is calmly and honourably tying up the remaining loose ends of his marriage to Patrick.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Over the weeks, Patrick has written many angry letters, pouring out his feelings to Jonny.

He has sent none of them. What would be the point? Their arrangement is over.

Jonny was very clear on that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick has developed a habit of twisting his engagement and wedding rings around his finger. He should probably have left them behind, or sent them back. He can't even bear to take them off.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick has nothing to do and he can’t bear it. He still has the contacts, the drive, the knowledge from his days running his late father’s bloodstock business. It’s not like he doesn’t know the players, the whole bloodstock field, how to make a deal. It was his father’s gambling debts that undermined the firm's financial footing, not lack of knowledge or networking or application.

Patrick goes back to work, applying himself to brokering deals between owners and sellers, and purchasing fillies and colts to order at auction for commissions from clients. He doesn’t do it for the money. The harder he works, the more he devotes himself to the tasks, the busier he is, the less time he has to think about Jonny.

Once at an auction, he thinks he sees Jonny’s dark head across the room. He leaves the auction immediately, heart pounding.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Living with his family again is pretty nice, all things considered. It's fun to spend time with his sisters, it's fun to snuggle on the sofa with them, it's fun to criticise Jess's truly appalling piano playing.

All of it gives him blessed distraction for whole minutes at a time from missing Jonny.

He misses Jonny’s laugh, the way his nose scrunches up when laughter shakes him. He misses Jonny’s warmth and scent surrounding him at night; his bed is so cold without Jonny in it. He misses talking with Jonny; he turns a dozen times a day to tell Jonny something, and feels a stab in his heart when he realises afresh that Jonny no longer has any need for him.

He misses Jonny with every breath.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick's birthday arrives and passes without any word from Jonny. 

Christmas arrives and passes without any word from Jonny.

Patrick's heat arrives, and without Jonny, it's nightmarish.

When he feels the fever start to rise, he sits in a cold bath until his skin turns blue, hoping it will fend off his heat. It doesn’t. He hauls himself to his bed, touches himself and thinks of Jonny and tries to make it be enough, and although the fever drives him to try again and again until his skin is raw, it isn’t. He should be able to bear it alone. He can’t.

He lies on his bed, feeling the fever fire his blood, every particle of his body yearning for Jonny, knowing that Jonny doesn't care.

In a haze of pain and need, he curses his weakness and sends for Sidney.

By the time Sidney reaches him, Patrick's so deep in heat that he's only vaguely aware of Sidney arriving, of what Sidney is saying, of Sidney’s cool hand on Patrick's forehead. Sidney forces some suppressants down Patrick's throat.

After that, physically it's closer to being bearable.

Sidney dabs Patrick's forehead with a cloth dipped in cold water. “Patrick, it's not my business, but why won't you go and see Jonny? Surely you and he can work something out. A blind man could see how much he cares about you.”

Patrick quits staring at the wall long enough to make eye contact with Sidney. “He doesn’t care.”

”He does! I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

”He sent me away. If he wanted to see me, he knows where I am -- he bought this house for my family.”

Sidney sighs. “He bought you that giant rock too, and had the ring engraved. That’s the Sikura Sapphire.”

Patrick shrugs. “He told me to pick any ring. It didn’t seem to matter to him which one.”

“The Sikura Sapphire is a famous gem. If you wanted to, you could sell it and buy a significant chunk of Chicago with the proceeds.”

Sidney must be mistaken.

“I don’t know anything about that," Patrick says. "Jonny had something engraved inside it. He wouldn’t tell me what it means, and I can’t read it. It’s in French.”

“Why wouldn’t Jonny tell you what it means?”

“I don't know," Patrick says again. "He just wouldn’t.”

“Jonny always was a bit secretive. I’m bilingual, same as Jonny. Here, let me take a look.” Sidney takes the ring, turns it in his fingers and squints at the tiny inscription. “It reads, _Mon coeur est a vous_. That means, _My heart is yours_.”

Patrick tries to take that in.

“Patrick. There must be some kind of miscommunication here. I can't believe Jonny is treating you like this, neglecting you during your heat.” Sidney checks Patrick’s mating gland, being very careful not to touch it. “I see he hasn’t bitten you either. It’s badly done to leave you like this, married but unbonded. Heat is challenging enough when it’s straightforward.”

“Jonny's not treating me badly. He kept his side of the bargain. It’s not his problem that I’m going through heat. He just doesn't want me around any more.”

“What bargain was this?”

Patrick tells Sidney about his and Jonny's agreement.

Sidney is silent for so long that Patrick thinks he didn't hear him properly. Patrick's voice is pretty croaky from lack of use.

“Patrick, I don't know what's going on between you and Jonny. I do know for certain that Jonny never had any problems with immigration.”

Patrick can’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. I received my papers at the same time as Jonny received his, at the same ceremony too. It was years ago, when we both first came to the US. They need doctors, so they had no problem with me, and of course Jonny's filthy rich, so they had no problem with him either.”

“Why would Jonny say that he needed help with his immigration status if he didn't?” Did he just want to help Patrick with his financial troubles and needed a cover story to hide the fact that he was helping Patrick out of the goodness of his heart?

Was Patrick some kind of a charity case to Jonny from the start?

“I don’t know. Why would you give you a priceless ring with an inscription like this one unless he meant it?” Sidney says.

“Maybe he realised how I felt?" Patrick feels his heart sink. "Maybe he was mocking me?” he whispers.

Sidney looks horrified. "Surely not.”

Had Jonny lied about the entailed estates in Canada too? Maybe that was true and he really did need an heir. Why did he send Patrick away then? He could have been useful for that. Unless he didn’t want to touch Patrick or didn’t think he was suitable for breeding, and had someone else more suitable lined up to provide an heir. But then why hasn't Jonny already begun the process of divorcing Patrick? He’d need to remarry to have a legitimate heir.

“None of it makes sense,” Patrick whispers.

“Patrick, I don’t know what’s going on. The only way to find out is to ask Jonny. You should really go talk with him.” Sidney rubs Patrick's shoulder. “Please.”

There is no way Patrick is going near Jonny, especially not now he knows that Jonny was lying to him, that their so-called mutually beneficial arrangement was just a ruse. His gratitude has reached new depths; so has his despair and confusion.

He holds on to one clear fact.

Jonny sent him away.

Patrick’s not going where he's not wanted.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It doesn't matter to Sabre how low Patrick feels. Sabre needs exercise.

Patrick's out riding Sabre in the local park, recovering from his recent heat, blinking in the bright spring sun, when he spots Seabrook and Duncan too late to avoid them. They are stationed inside the park gates, one at each side, like sentries. They see him before he can turn away.

They move rapidly to Sabre's side. Duncan clamps a hand on Patrick's stirrup, as though Patrick was going to try to get away. Actually, getting away would be a good idea. Seabrook grabs Sabre’s bridle as though he can read Patrick’s mind and knows Patrick is thinking of bolting.

“Patrick, how are you? You look like hammered shit,” Seabrook says.

“Good to see you too,” Patrick says.

“You have to come and see Jonny,” Duncan says. “Right now.”

“Lord Toews told me to leave.” Why does he have to keep repeating this humiliating fact to all and bloody sundry? 

“Lord Toews has had his head up his giant ass for a long time. You need to come and set him right,” Seabrook says.

“I can see you're very concerned for your friend, the way you speak so affectionately of him.”

Duncan shakes Patrick's stirrup, making Sabre shift uneasily. “We are being serious here, Patrick. We don't know what happened between you and Jonny.”

“And frankly, we don’t give a fuck,” Seabrook says.

“Whatever it was, put it behind you, because he's in a bad way.”

“He needs to see you,” Seabrook says.

They mean well. They are so wrong. “Lord Toews sent Bettman with papers, to make sure I wouldn’t have any call on him.”

Duncan shakes his head. “Don't you want to see him?”

“Of course I --” Patrick says. He takes a steadying breath. “Of course I'd like to see him, but the fact remains, he doesn't care about me or want me around. He said our marriage was over. He told me to leave.”

Seabrook grinds his teeth. “Jonny's still wearing his wedding ring. I see you're still wearing yours. I don’t know which of you is the most stupid. Both of you idiots need to talk.”

Patrick shakes his head. No way.

Duncan lowers his voice. “We heard that you called for Crosby when you were going through your heat.” 

Oh great, it turns out there’s more humiliation to be had. The fucking footmen have been telling tales.

“When Jonny heard that -- he was messed up before, but he was holding it more or less together until then,” Seabrook says.

“Have you formed a new attachment to Crosby?” Duncan demands to know.

Patrick shakes his head again. “No, he made a house call for a medical issue. That’s all. Jonny, I mean Lord Toews, told me to leave. I left. It’s over between us. Now let me go.”

Duncan doesn’t loosen his grip on Patrick’s stirrup. Seabrook doesn’t loosen his grip on Sabre’s bridle.

Duncan and Seabrook share a look.

“Patrick. When I say Jonny’s in a bad way, I mean, he’s in a _bad_ way,” Seabrook says.

“What do you mean?” Patrick can’t prevent himself from asking.

“We’ve had to lock the gun room, Patrick,” Duncan says. “And lose the key. Whoops.”

It’s like a cold bucket of water over Patrick’s head. “What?”

“You say he doesn’t care about you. We were both there,” Seabrook says, dropping his voice, “when he pretty much killed that scumbag for you.”

“We were both there when he stepped in front of the scumbag’s son’s pistol for you.” Duncan says. “Remember that? Remember _that_ , boy? We don’t care what moronic misunderstanding you and Jonny have had. We don’t care that your fragile little feelings have been hurt. We care about Jonny staying alive.”

“So are you going to come of your own free will?” Seabrook says.

“Or are we going to drag you?” Duncan says.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It's an unseasonably hot day, which would have made the ride to the estate pleasant if Patrick wasn't a bag of nerves. Patrick spends most of the ride staring at his sapphire ring, trying not to let the seed of hope grow in his heart. When Patrick, Seabrook, and Duncan arrive at the house, the first person Patrick sees is Sharpy.

Sharpy comes straight over to him, pulls him unceremoniously down off Sabre's back, and hugs him hard. “Sir, I'm delighted to see you.”

Duncan and Seabrook dismount. “Look at that, Patrick. That’s how bad things are. Sharpy's showing emotion,” Seabrook says.

“Take Patrick up to Jonny's room, Sharpy. There's no time to mess around,” Duncan says.

Sharpy escorts Patrick up the staircase to Jonny's room, their old room, and eases the door open. “Good luck, sir,” Sharpy says, shoving him through the doorway.

Patrick goes in and moves down the corridor past the doors to their respective dressing rooms and bathrooms. Even in the corridor, the place is visibly dirty. In the bedroom, the velvet at the windows is half hanging off the pole, blocking the light in patches, letting it stab through elsewhere. The room's gloom partly hides Jonny sprawled across the bed, naked, with his face buried in the pillows.

For one horrible moment, Patrick's heart stutters -- Jonny's not breathing. Then he sees Jonny's rib cage move. The rush of relief dizzies him.

Jonny is just sleeping.

Patrick moves quietly about the room, investigating. There's the crunch of broken glass underfoot, and slippery bits that smell of vomit, dust coating everything, clothes dropped in crumpled heaps, books thrown about, broken crockery, empty bottles. Many empty bottles. He moves to the side of the bed nearest Jonny's head, and puts his hand on Jonny's shoulder. 

Jonny doesn't move.

Patrick shakes him.

Jonny lifts his head. His eyes are half-closed and when he glimpses Patrick, he flinches. “Patrick.”

“Jonny. I came back.” Patrick's shrivelled heart twitches to see Jonny's stupid face after so long. It was worth it to come back just for that, even if Jonny throws him out again.

“No,” Jonny rasps. “You aren't back. You're never coming back. I'm just seeing things again.” Tears trickle down his face, and he rubs his eyes irritably with the back of his hand. His hair is much longer than it was when last they met. He's grown a really tragic beard.

Patrick's own eyes fill with tears to see Jonny crying. “No, really, it's really me.” Patrick pats Jonny's shoulder. “I'm right here.”

Jonny just shakes his head miserably, then drops his face to the dirty bedding. “I always think it's Patrick. It's never Patrick.” He presses his face harder into the bed to muffle his sobs.

“Seriously, Jonny, I'm back. I'm really back, my dear,” Patrick says.

Jonny doesn't move.

Exasperated, Patrick says, “And I'm here to tell you, this place is disgusting and you're lying here like a pig mired in your own filth. Get up, you heathen.”

Jonny says to the mattress, “That does sound like Patrick.”

“Yes!” Patrick says. “It's me! And I'm telling you to get out of that bed before I drag you out. The stench is terrible.”

Jonny shares another confidence with his friend, the mattress. “He's berating me. I've finally lost my mind.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and squeezes Jonny's shoulder. “Get out of bed before I get the servants to haul you out. Your giant ass is too heavy for me. I've seen goat pens cleaner than this bed. Roll out of it.”

Jonny slowly lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot. They fasten on Patrick's face.

Patrick smiles, and if it’s a rather watery smile, there’s no one here except them.

Jonny blinks repeatedly. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, “it's really me. You clearly missed me. Please get out of bed, for pity’s sake!”

Jonny slowly rolls over and heaves himself out of the bed with exactly none of his usual grace. He straightens up slowly in front of Patrick. He's trembling. He looks bad and smells worse. Patrick is so glad to see him that a bubble of joy expands to fill his chest.

Jonny is swaying a little on his feet. “I'm not -- ” he whispers, “I'm not just imagining this?”

“It's really me.” Patrick sighs. “I missed you, Jonny, so so much. I came back to see you.” Now is not the time to mention that Seabrook and Duncan had threatened to drag him here.

Jonny blinks again. He swallows. “Are you going to stay?”

“Yes, I’m going to stay while we have a talk. A long talk.”

“You promise -- ” Jonny's face crumples. “You promise you won't leave me?”

Patrick blinks back fresh tears, biting back a bitter retort about how it was Jonny who basically had Patrick sent into exile. With Jonny in this vulnerable condition, he wants to choose his words very carefully. “I promise. I’m going to stay while we talk everything over, and it’s going to take a long while. You’re stuck with me for the time being. Until and unless you send me away again.” Maybe Patrick is a little bitter.

Jonny sobs and totters forward, arms raised to embrace Patrick but stops himself just short of reaching him. Jonny looks down at himself. “I'm not fit to touch you, I'm so dirty.”

“You’d definitely benefit from a bath.” Patrick darts past Jonny and whips the top sheet off the ruins of the bed, wrapping it around Jonny's naked body like the world's murkiest toga. Were the sheets changed even once while he was away? This room is a pit of filth.

Patrick goes to ring for the servants.

Sharpy is at the door instantly. He must've been lurking in the vicinity to arrive so quickly. Patrick is touched that he chose to stay close at hand, out of concern for Jonny, or maybe out of concern for Patrick. Patrick asks him to draw Jonny a deep bath, get him something non-alcoholic to drink, and call Crosby to attend him.

Sharpy gives Patrick a big relieved grin and calls in the reinforcements to carry out Patrick's wishes.

Patrick goes back to Jonny's side. Jonny looks at him, seeming dazed. Patrick takes his hand, starting to guide him towards Jonny's bathroom.

Sharpy comes back to Patrick's side. “Better to use your own bathroom, if I may say so, sir,” he says to Patrick. He clears his throat. “His lordship's own bathroom is not in good condition at present.”

Patrick shrugs and guides Jonny's shuffling steps towards his own bathroom. He gets Jonny to sit down while Sharpy hurries to get the bath ready. Patrick hands Jonny a toothbrush Sharpy has got from the stores. It hurts his heart to see Jonny, normally so strong willed, biddable as a child. Jonny starts to brush his teeth absently, his eyes fixed every moment on Patrick.

Sharpy and Patrick get Jonny in the tub. Patrick rolls up his sleeves and scrubs Jonny's back, noting with dismay how Jonny, never a man with any fat on him, has lost weight he could ill afford to lose since Patrick saw him last. When Patrick is done with Jonny’s back, he hands the washcloth to Jonny, letting him get finished, and goes to leave the room, to give him privacy.

“No,” Jonny says in a low rumble. “Please stay with me.”

“Of course I will.” Patrick drags a chair over to the side of the bath. “It's so good to see you.”

“I'm sorry I made you leave. I had my reasons -- ”

Sharpy taps at the door and comes back in, carrying a tray. “I've sent someone to fetch Crosby.” 

Jonny grimaces at Crosby’s name. 

Sharpy hands Jonny a tall glass.

Jonny sniffs the contents of his glass suspiciously. “What the hell is it?”

“A drink you’ve been unfamiliar with of late, my lord. Water,” Sharpy says. “Drink it all.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sidney arrives in haste.

Squeaky clean, freshly shaved, and fully dressed, Jonny is ensconced beside Patrick on the sofa in the main drawing room. He holds tight to Patrick’s hand. He glares at Sidney in a thoroughly hostile way.

Sidney can’t help noticing Jonny’s glare. He looks in confusion at Patrick.

“Jonny thinks that you and I have been carrying on an affair,” Patrick says by way of explanation.

Sidney bursts out laughing.

Jonny looks even grumpier.

“I’ve been doing all I can to encourage Patrick to return to you, my lord,” Sidney says when he can speak again. “I have no interest in Patrick.”

Jonny glares at him harder.

“I mean to say, Patrick is very attractive, of course,” Sidney says hastily. “I can see that, I have _eyes,_ but I have no interest in Patrick, on account of the fact he is a married man. Not to mention that I’m engaged to be married myself.”

“Oh,” Jonny says, like the unbelievably jealous dolt he is. “Sorry, Patrick,” he mutters. “Sorry, Sidney.”

“It’s not a problem,” Sidney says. “Simply a misunderstanding.”

“I had heard that Patrick called you to help him with his heat,” Jonny grinds out, as though the memory causes him pain.

“Sidney _did_ help me with my heat,” Patrick says. “By supplying me with suppressants, not his dick.”

Sidney giggles again, before giving Jonny a grilling about his health that would intimidate a lesser man. He examines him, pronouncing him dehydrated and undernourished and hugely hungover, but basically sound. “You should ease up on the alcohol, Jonny. Even your liver can only take so much.”

“I’ll lay off the booze, Sidney.”

“Good, I advise you to get a few early nights in, too.” Sidney smiles. “I'm sure Patrick will help you there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Patrick says.

Sidney makes Jonny take tablets for what is obviously an epic hangover and down another glass of water with them. He takes a cardboard box out of his doctor's bag. “These supplies might come in handy for you, Patrick. I'll leave them here,” he says, putting the box down. It clinks. “Call me when you need more. Which I'm hopeful will be soon.”

Patrick blushes.

Sidney smirks. “I'm very glad you two are talking again. Goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye, Sid. Thanks for your help. Congratulations on your engagement,” Patrick says, getting up long enough to give his love-struck friend a quick hug. “Tell Geno I said hello.”

“We’ll send you two an invitation when we’ve set a date.”

Sharpy, ever hovering, whisks Sidney out, and comes back to see what else Patrick wants. What Patrick wants is a thorough cleaning of their bedroom and surrounding areas. And while that’s happening, he wants food and drink for a picnic packed up, some horses, a duffel bag with some blankets, towels, plus a few other items, and a couple of grooms to attend them.

Sharpy goes off to arrange all of that. 

Patrick puts his arms around Jonny. Jonny tips his head onto Patrick's shoulder, dropping into a light doze as they wait together on the sofa for everything to be made ready. How much sleep had Jonny missed recently? It's hard to say. Patrick drops a kiss on Jonny’s tousled head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The sun bakes down on them relentlessly as they ride to the edge of the woodlands. They take it slow and easy. Jonny insists on he and Patrick riding side by side, and holding hands all the while, as though Patrick is going to suddenly disappear.

At the tree line, they dismount and tie the horses in the shade, where there's plenty of grass to keep them occupied. The grooms carry the picnic basket and the duffle bag with the blankets and towels. Jonny leads Patrick by the hand down the narrow footpath to the lake, looking back frequently even though he literally has Patrick's hand in his, with the grooms following along.

It takes a while and they're all perspiring by the time they get to the lake. When they reach the silver water cupped in a clearing in the trees, Patrick says, “You're right -- this is a beautiful spot.”

Jonny smiles. “I always hoped you'd like it.”

Patrick directs the grooms to place their burdens down. “Go keep an eye on the horses. Your own lunch is in the saddlebags; there’s a few beers in there for you too. Don't come back for any reason, until I whistle. Thanks, lads.”

Patrick stamps down a wide circle in the thick grass by the lakeside, spreads out the blankets on it, and pats the blanket to indicate that Jonny should join him. Jonny sits down beside him, more of a controlled fall than just taking a seat. Patrick takes out one of the canteens of water and shares it with Jonny. They rest there for a few minutes.

Patrick starts to take his clothes off.

Jonny's eyes widen.

“Get your clothes off, Jonny,” Patrick says as he shoves his pants to the ground.

Jonny’s jaw slackens.

Patrick drops the last of his clothing on the grass, leaving him in just his underwear. “Wouldn't you like to have a swim with me?”

Jonny strips naked with gratifying speed. Hand in hand, they walk down to the water’s edge and out into the water. 

Patrick yelps at the cold and grabs Jonny. Jonny chuckles, hugging Patrick and towing him out from the muddy edge to the clearer water near the middle.

“This is pretty small for a lake,” Patrick says.

“Yes, it's more of a large pond. Well, it's more of a big puddle with pretensions.”

Patrick laughs into Jonny's bare chest.

“It's nice and cool in the summer, though, and on days like this one.” 

“Mmm,” Patrick mutters, rubbing his lips back and forth in a blurry kiss to Jonny's collar bones. “Let's swim a little bit.”

They separate reluctantly. Patrick swims across the lake fast and with plenty of splashing. He rolls onto his back to watch Jonny's sleek stroke cut efficiently through the water.

After exploring the lake and enjoying splashing around in the cool water, Patrick gets out first. He wraps a towel around his waist and drops down into the warm blanket nest in the long grass, which has the benefit of allowing him to watch Jonny stroll naked and dripping out of the water. He watches drops of water roll down the muscular lines of Jonny's bare body.

Yes, the view at the lake is definitely breathtaking. 

Patrick, regretfully, hands Jonny a towel to put an end to Patrick's appreciation. He digs fresh underwear out of the duffle for both of them. He rubs another towel over his hair and skin, wriggling into the clean underwear; Jonny does likewise. It's a pity to see any of Jonny’s skin covered up. It's so private here, so sheltered by the trees, and the sun is so warm, they don't need to bother with the rest of their clothes for the moment.

Patrick pulls bread rolls and cheese out of the picnic basket, plus a couple of apples. They munch in companionable silence.

“This is like a dream. I can't believe you're here. I should pinch myself,” Jonny says.

“Allow me to do that for you,” Patrick says, pinching Jonny's side quite hard. Jonny yelps and chuckles. Patrick rubs the offended spot in apology. "Believe me, I'm here." Patrick finishes his apple and steals a bite of Jonny's for good measure. “Even though you sent me away.” He's definitely keeping any note of bitterness out of his voice. Definitely.

Jonny looks sad. “I didn't want to ask you to leave, Patrick.”

“So why did you, Jonny?” Patrick pokes Jonny in the bicep with one finger. “I don't understand.”

Jonny throws his apple core into the undergrowth. He won’t meet Patrick’s eyes. “Because I'm no better than Deane,” Jonny whispers, hanging his head.

“No,” Patrick says, aghast. “You're nothing like him.”

Jonny gives a bitter laugh. “Aren’t I? You act like you have the free choice to be here, but I planned all of this out.”

“You planned all of this out? You planned out sending me away?”

“No, I mean -- I planned our marriage. I've been in love with you for years.”

Patrick has to look down to hide his surprised grin. They are trying to have a serious conversation here. He can cheer at Jonny's statement and do all his gleeful jumping up and down later. “Since when?” He thinks Jonny will say something about their first meeting at the estate offices in Chicago, after Jonny had earlier proposed marriage by letter; they had met for the first time there to hammer out the details of their agreement.

“Do you remember that bad winter when we were sixteen?”

Patrick nods. “Yes, my family and I lived in Buffalo then. The rivers all froze. It was good though, school was closed. I played hockey on the nearest river with my friends every day for a week.”

Jonny licks his lips. “Do you remember one game when you had a hat trick?”

“Yes --” And suddenly Patrick remembers the other team, with the dark-eyed gangly boy who'd scored twice, who'd stared at him, who’d said he was visiting from... Manitoba. “Oh my God.”

“I fell for you then," Jonny says. "I took one look at you and I just knew. I fell in love with you at first sight.”

“Fuck.”

“Everything I've done since was to -- I planned and worked so I'd be able to show you that I would be a worthy mate. My father, I remember, was surprised; I'd always been a hard worker but he said he had started to worry that I was possessed." Jonny half-smiles at the memory. "I built up my part in the family businesses, and took shares in other businesses, until my father passed away when I was eighteen. Then I set a management team in place to look after our estates in Manitoba. I took the inheritance my godmother left me when she passed away, cashed in shares to raise sufficient capital, and moved to Chicago.”

Patrick stares at Jonny.

”I bought the estate solely to be near you," Jonny says.

Patrick can't speak.

"Patrick, that’s not all. I had you watched."

"You had me _watched_?"

Jonny nods. There's red high on his cheekbones. "I had you watched. I’m sorry. I paid certain individuals to keep an eye on you."

Disturbing. Fascinating. "Whom?"

"A senior clerk at city hall. A lawyer. And a lady close to you."

"The lawyer being Bettman?"

"Yes."

"The lady. Who was she?"

Jonny hesitates, staring deep into Patrick's eyes as though he can transfer the information into Patrick's brain without having to speak. He squares his bare shoulders like a man about to face a firing squad. "Your mother."

Patrick's jaw drops. "My _mother!_ "

"All she had to do," Jonny says quickly, "was send me a note if you showed signs of being romantically interested in anyone. I only managed to talk her into it because she needed the funds to help keep a roof over her family's heads." Jonny pauses, saying in a small voice, "I realise asking her to do that was a massive breach of trust."

"You're only realising that _now?_ "

Jonny nods. He looks totally miserable.

Patrick wants to stop talking about this, forever. He can't. His best chance of getting the whole truth out of Jonny, harsh though it is, is now while he's still vulnerable. "Why did you decide to have me watched?"

"Partly for your safety," Jonny says. When Patrick gives him a skeptical look, he says, "The main reason was so I would know if anyone was courting you. I didn't want any other alpha to steal you away while I was making my preparations. I was planning to woo you in the traditional way, I swear. Everything was so close to ready. I fully intended going to pay a visit to your father, to ask his permission to court you, when I heard about your father’s financial troubles, his gambling debts. And I was _pleased_ , pleased that your dad was in deep difficulty.” Jonny's throat works with self-disgust. “God forgive me, I was pleased -- not that he died, not that -- about your father’s debts. They gave me the excuse I needed, so I could swoop in and rescue you. I benefited from your family's misfortune. I manipulated you into marrying me.”

Patrick just sits there and tries to absorb all this. Jonny was in love with him. Jonny had been in love with him since they met once way back when they were kids. Jonny had put immense amounts of hard work and outright scheming into arranging for Patrick to be in a position where he'd have to marry Jonny whether he liked it or not.

Fortunately, Patrick likes it.

He'd known Jonny was a planner and liked to get his own way. This was on a whole other level.

Jonny was a _maniac_.

And Jonny had loved him since he was sixteen! Fucking hell.

“You lied to me about the immigration problem you said you were having,” Patrick says.

“Yes, I did,” Jonny admits, straightaway. He appears to have decided to make a clean breast of it. “I absolutely lied. I lied to your face. I’m sorry. I've had official papers, dual citizenship, for years.”

“Thought so. Sidney told me you and he got your papers at the same ceremony.”

Something flickers in Jonny's eyes when Patrick mentions Sidney. Patrick files that away for later consideration. He's still working on the scheming, manipulation, and lying parts.

“All right,” Patrick says. He rubs both hands over his face. “All right. Is there anything else you haven't told me? Anything else you're holding back?”

“Yes, there’s no entailment on any of the Toews estates in Canada. I lied about that too. I inherited them free and clear, without any strings attached.”

“Christ.” Patrick bites his lip. “You don’t need an heir. You never needed an heir.”

“No, I don’t _need_ one.”

“Do you even _want_ children? Truthfully?”

“I would love to have children with you, Patrick. As few or as many as you want. At a time you want. Only if you want. Truthfully.”

"Thank you for being honest with me. Finally."

Jonny winces, and takes Patrick’s hand, kissing it. "I don't have the words to express how sorry I am for all my lies. That's everything I lied about, I swear to God,” Jonny says. He half-laughs. “Isn't that enough?”

“Yes, it's certainly enough.” Patrick flops back on the blanket and studies the sky for a second, holding Jonny’s hand and trying to get his thoughts in order.

“So what now?” Jonny says. His fingers twist against Patrick’s palm.

“You're clearly obsessed and besotted with me,” Patrick says. God only knew why Jonny had fallen in love with him. Patrick tries to recall the details of that hockey game, so long ago. Had Jonny taken a bad hit to the head? Patrick doesn’t remember anything like that.

“I admit it. I am,” Jonny says. Patrick is just happy that it was a fact.

“Good, because I'm obsessed and besotted with you too,” Patrick says. Jonny grips Patrick’s hand convulsively. Patrick squeezes back. “I'm not leaving you. As long as you do one thing for me.”

“ _Anything._ Name it.”

Patrick sits up and leans close to Jonny. He whispers in his ear, “Touch me.”

Jonny's breath catches. He presses his smile to Patrick's, kissing him gently.

They pull back to grin at each other.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to forgive me,” Jonny says. The dazedly happy look on his face says the same.

“I can’t believe you’ve been such a jerk! I can’t say I’m happy you manipulated me. I can’t say I’m happy you sent me away.” Patrick puts his hands on Jonny’s waist and strokes the smooth skin of his sides to soften what he’s saying. “I am happy that we’re together now. I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do my very best,” Jonny says, smiling. His smile drops away as he rests his forehead against Patrick’s. “I swear to God I’ll never lie to you again. I promise I'll never hold back anything again. I promise on Maddie’s and Sadie’s lives. I love you, Patrick.”

For a long moment, they just breathe together. The sun shines down on them like a blessing. The birds sing a song of celebration. It’s very peaceful.

Eventually Patrick pulls back enough to rub a hand over his face.

"Just so you know, I’d like some babies, some time in the future. With you, not Sidney, in case that’s not clear," Patrick says. They’ll have to wait for Patrick to go into heat before there’s any chance of conception. Heat was so horrendous last time. It's a little surreal to be suddenly looking forward to the next time.

"That would be --" Jonny is so overcome, he can't speak for a moment. "That would be _wonderful_. That you’d even consider it is more than I deserve. Thank you. I love you, Patrick. With all my heart." Jonny peppers kisses all over Patrick’s upturned face and strokes his thumb over Patrick's sapphire ring. " _My heart is yours._ "

Patrick kisses Jonny and for a time, there are no words between them.

When Jonny has to draw back for air, he tugs on one of Patrick's curls currently dripping water all over the place. “I love your curls, too.”

While Patrick can't appreciate Jonny's appreciation of what is basically the bird's nest on his head, he can most definitely appreciate it when Jonny starts running his fingers over Patrick's scalp. Patrick lets his eyelids droop to shield his eyes against the sun coming over Jonny's shoulder, and to better enjoy the sensation. He lifts his hand to trace Jonny's sharply etched collar bone and over the plump roundness of the muscle capping his shoulder.

Patrick's fingertips explore down to Jonny's thick bicep and skip across to Jonny's ribs, and the soft skin over the beautifully defined muscles of his flat belly. He’d held himself back from touching Jonny for so long. Now it's the easiest thing in the world to tip forward and press his mouth just above his fingertips. Jonny’s skin feels so good under his lips.

Jonny's hand in Patrick's hair has stopped moving; it seems he's holding his breath. He's not pulling away as he easily could, so Patrick kisses Jonny's chest again and then goes back to his slow exploration. He moves up a little to rub one of Jonny's nipples, and the circle of pinker skin stiffens. As Patrick leans forward and kisses the little bud, Jonny's breathing restarts abruptly with a gasp.

Patrick licks Jonny’s nipple and Jonny gasps again, his hand gently cupping the back of Patrick's head to keep him there.

Patrick can take a hint. He opens his mouth over Jonny's nipple and sucks on it as Jonny trembles underneath him.

Patrick pushes Jonny onto his back and climbs on top of him. “Is this all right with you?”

Jonny nods frantically. When Patrick looks at Jonny's face, his eyes are dark and wide. Patrick leans down and Jonny stretches up to kiss him. They kiss for a long time, Patrick doesn't know how long, until the sun is low in the sky, until Patrick's lips are swollen and sore, until Patrick is grinding down against the hard ridge of Jonny's dick, and has to raise his head to gasp out loud.

Jonny stretches up to kiss him again. “No,” Patrick says. Jonny flops down dramatically, like a rag doll. Patrick laughs. “I just mean, no more kissing for now. We should head back to the house. It's getting cold out here.” He looks to the sky, where dark clouds are in the distance, getting nearer. “I think there’s rain coming.”

Jonny pouts, so Patrick has to kiss him again.

Patrick can see that Jonny looks much better already for the good food and fresh air, despite the dark circles under his eyes. He needs at least one good night's rest, at a bare minimum, to be back to some semblance of his normally vigorous good health. Nonetheless, Patrick feels satisfied with how their first day of being reunited has gone so far. He leans down and pecks Jonny on the cheek -- it's really hard to stop kissing him -- and then hops to his feet, offering a hand to help Jonny up. They get dressed together, Patrick helping Jonny with his buttons, and Jonny shyly helping Patrick into his jacket.

Once they're both clothed, Patrick runs his fingers through his hair in hope of getting some of the grass out of it. He grabs their blanket and shakes it out, folds it up and dumps it in Jonny's arms. Patrick whistles for the grooms and while they're waiting for them, Patrick gathers the rest of their stuff into the picnic basket and duffle bag.

The grooms arrive and Patrick and Jonny load them with their belongings. They all start back along the path to Midnight and Sabre and the other horses. Jonny insists on giving Patrick a boost into his saddle on Sabre, and then swings up into his own saddle on Midnight with his usual economy of movement. Patrick leans over, their stirrups jingling together, and kisses Jonny. And Jonny kisses him back, the watching grooms ignored.

“You should kiss me again,” Patrick says, waggling his eyebrows. “Remember, the immigration authorities have their informants.”

Jonny laughs and threads his fingers through the curls at Patrick's nape to keep him in place for a thorough exploration of his mouth. When their horses jostle apart, Patrick feels a little dazed. Jonny smirks and takes Patrick's hand, and side by side, they head for home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Patrick may or may not have been impatiently waiting for night to fall. As soon as the sun drops to a level that just barely indicates late evening, he takes the book that Jonny hasn't been reading out of his hands, dropping it on top of the book Patrick himself has not been reading.

“Let's go to bed.”

Jonny leaps to his feet, and offers his hand to Patrick.

They walk up the staircase.

“The last time we walked up this staircase together --” Patrick says.

Jonny shudders. “Don't remind me. It nearly killed me to push you away like that.”

Patrick thinks of the despair he'd felt at that moment, how he'd contemplated for a split second going over the bannister.

It had nearly killed him too.

One day, Patrick will tell Jonny. He should know how much Jonny means to him, that he felt so bleak at that moment. Right now, he doesn’t need any cause to feel more guilt.

They enter their rooms. Patrick takes great pleasure in closing and bolting the door behind them. He's on the right side of the door this time.

As they walk down the corridor to their bedroom, Patrick can see that cleaning has been done. When they get to their bedroom, he’s relieved to see the room is neat and clean again. All the detritus has been removed, the air is fresh, the bed is made up with crisp white linens. There’s not a speck of dirt or dust anywhere. Every member of staff in the house must have been in here scrubbing to get it back to immaculate condition in record time. Patrick is glad. They could have slept in a guest room for their first night back together. He much prefers that they can sleep here in the same bed they’ve shared throughout their marriage. He makes a mental note to reward all the staff.

Jonny takes Patrick in his arms. His breath, scented with the hothouse peaches they had for dessert, stirs the hair at Patrick's temple.

Patrick kisses him, then pulls reluctantly away. “Let’s get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.”

If Jonny is disappointed, he shows no sign of it. After they get ready for bed, and are lying together under the covers, sleep doesn’t come easily. Jonny seems to relax for a moment and then startle awake, again and again.

Patrick pats him. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you sleep?”

Jonny holds Patrick closer, looking a little bit shamefaced. “I guess I’m afraid you won’t be here when I wake up.”

Patrick thinks for a minute. “Hmm, I think I can do something about that. I’ll be back in a moment.” Patrick slides out of bed, padding over to where Jonny has, as usual, carelessly thrown his dressing gown aside. He comes back to the bed with its soft silk belt. “Here.” He ties one end of the belt around his own wrist, snuggles back comfortably into Jonny’s arms, and ties the other end around Jonny’s wrist. “There you go. Like belling a cat. You’ll know if I try to leave, Jonny. Not that I’m going to.”

Jonny kisses Patrick again. “Thank you.” He curls around Patrick and this time they both are able to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After a long sleep and an enormous breakfast, Patrick decides as he’s feeding Jonny the last few bites of croissant that he needs to go to the study and write a letter.

“I think I should write and let my mother and my sisters know I’ve moved back into your house --”

“Our house,” Jonny says.

”They’re probably wondering where I am. Let’s go to your study -- “

“Our study,” Jonny says.

“ _Our_ study, and I’ll put pen to paper.”

Jonny finishes nibbling on the croissant and starts nibbling gently on Patrick’s fingers. “Certainly, let’s inform your sweet mother and your rather more astringent sisters of my amazing good fortune in having you return to my arms.”

Patrick giggles. “My sisters aren’t that bad.”

“They’re thoroughly terrible, very fond of them though I am. Do you recall that time they were accusing me of marking up your lovely neck?”

"After Sharpy accidentally nicked me with a razor? Yes. They were implying that you'd caused it."

Jonny slides the tip of Patrick's pointer finger into his mouth and sucks on it. Patrick is distracted from the conversation, and in fact from remembering to breathe, for a moment. Once Jonny slides Patrick's finger out again, he says, "I'd been sitting in your mother's drawing room, half-listening to your sisters talking, indulging myself, I admit, in thoughts of how much I'd like to kiss you at the base of your throat. Other places too, but there to begin with. I was wondering what your pulse would feel like under my mouth. I was lost in contemplation of what sounds you might conceivably make if I were permitted to kiss you there, when your sisters abruptly started to talk about how I must’ve ravished you the previous day and caused this injury."

"That must have been a jarring coincidence."

"Jarring? I thought they'd suddenly acquired the ability to read my mind!" Jonny looks sideways at Patrick as Patrick starts to laugh. "My thoughts about you are rarely pure. I nearly broke my own neck, getting out of that room as fast as I could."

Patrick laughs so hard his stomach hurts. "That does sound terrible."

"I've not had sisters. I have no experience in the field," Jonny says mournfully.

"You don't know what a lucky escape you had. They can be something of a handful."

"I don't doubt that." Jonny sucks meditatively on the pad of Patrick’s thumb for a moment, making Patrick’s pulse speed. “There are indications that it’s possible one of them is contemplating marriage to one of my footmen. And another is planning to marry my brother.”

Patrick is startled. “David’s going to marry one of my sisters? Which one?”

Jonny furrows his brow. “I’m not entirely sure. I know something’s going on. We’ll have to interrogate them at a later date, ascertain the facts. You know, lay down the big brother law.”

“Oh, of course.” Patrick tries to make his expression appear serious. “We should scrutinise the situation, see if the wooing is being carried out properly. Issue some rigorous wooing-my-sibling guidelines.”

“Yes, there may have to be regulations, possibly contracts. Arguably, we should call Bettman, get something set up.” Jonny reverts to kissing Patrick’s fingertips.

Patrick takes a breath and eases his fingertips away from Jonny’s too-tempting mouth. Mention of Bettman had brought up a painful question.

First things first, then.

“Let’s go to our study.”

Once there, Patrick sits down at their desk and writes a brief note to his mother. Just a line or two, telling her of his new happiness and that he and Jonny would be calling to see her and his sisters soon.

At some point, he'll have to have a conversation with his mother about how she agreed to report on him to Jonny. It's not that he's angry. It's hard to be angry when he's this happy. He remembers the curious expression -- he realises now it must've been guilt -- that passed over her face when he told her and his sisters that Lord Toews had written to propose marriage. If they talk it out, he can relieve her of that. Securing her happiness, and that of his sisters, was always his aim, and it still is.

Although he doesn’t mention it in the note, even if he didn’t want to see his family, he’d have to go see them in the near future, as all of his things are there. He can’t wear Jonny’s clothes forever, no matter how much Jonny seems to enjoy the sight of Patrick swamped by the items of clothing he borrowed from Jonny today.

He calls a maid to take the note and arrange for a messenger to take it to the Kane household. Then he walks over to the armchair by the fire where Jonny sits waiting for him. Jonny reaches out, taking Patrick by the hips and pulling him into his arms. Patrick squirms into a comfortable position on Jonny's lap and links his arms around Jonny’s neck.

Patrick kisses Jonny. Jonny sinks back into his chair and sinks into the kiss.

Eventually, Patrick has to come up for air. He’d rather keep kissing Jonny than ask him more questions. However, they still have things to talk over and better to do it now, rather than later. They’ve had enough misunderstandings to last them a lifetime.

“Jonny, why did you send Bettman to me, the day after you made me leave?”

Jonny’s arms around him tighten. He gets that earnest look on his face, the one Patrick is quickly getting to know, where he’s going to be one hundred percent honest, even if it kills him. “I wanted you to know that your financial situation was secure, that you owned the townhouse, and Sabre too, outright. I wanted you to be certain that you had plenty of money and resources now, and so did your mother and your sisters, so you wouldn’t be worrying about any of that.”

“And?”

“And?” Jonny echoes him.

“Come on, Jonny. You always have a secondary motive.”

Jonny presses his lips together.

“Tell me, Jonny,” Patrick says, kissing Jonny’s cheek. “It’s all right.”

“I -- I wanted you to know, to be sure you were independently wealthy, so you’d be free of money worries. And -- ” Jonny’s shoulders slump. “If you were ever going to come back to me, I wanted it to be your free choice. I wanted you to come back for me, not for my money.” He looks at Patrick’s expression and says quickly, “I’m not saying you’re a mercenary person! I know you’re not. Far from it. I’d used financial pressure as leverage to make you marry me. I wanted you to be free of that.”

“Good answer.” Patrick kisses Jonny softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jonny kisses Patrick’s mouth and then nuzzles his cheek. “What did you think I was doing?”

Patrick hides his face in the crook of Jonny’s shoulder. “I thought you were tying up loose ends. Making sure that I had no further claim on you.”

Jonny makes a soft distressed sound and his arms tighten around Patrick even more.

Patrick sniffs. “I asked Bettman if you’d started divorce proceedings. He told me you hadn’t. I thought that was because our marriage meant so little to you, you weren’t bothered by it still existing legally. It didn’t even matter enough to you to be considered a loose end worthy of tying off.”

“That’s not what it was. I couldn’t bear the thought of divorcing you. I thought as long as we were still legally wed, there was a chance you’d come back to me. Or at least that I'd see you again.” Jonny rocks Patrick in his arms. “I’m so sorry, my love.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When a maid comes into the study to tend the fire, Patrick realises that they’d been sitting there, embracing, for a ridiculously long time. Emotional revelations were all very well. Sitting around all morning in their pajamas was just lazy. When the maid finishes her task and leaves the room, smiling indulgently at them as she goes, Patrick asks, “Shall we go bathe?”

“In the lake?”

Patrick glances out the window at the torrential rain that is currently sluicing down the panes. “Let’s stick to a bathtub for today. I don’t want you to get hypothermia. You’ll be very little use to me in future if bits of you freeze off.”

Jonny tries to keep a straight face. “Absolutely. Let’s avoid that.”

They go up to their rooms.

“Do you want to share a bath, Patrick? I’ll wash your back for you.”

“Thanks, Jonny. I have a semi-competent valet for that.”

Patrick grins at Jonny’s crestfallen expression. 

“Just kidding! Of course you can wash my back, Jonny.”

“Why don’t we use my bathroom? It’s bigger than yours.”

“Of course it is, darling.” Patrick’s lips quirk.

Jonny rolls his eyes, opening the door to his bathroom and ushering Patrick in like an attentive valet, or even a semi-competent one.

Jonny’s bathroom really is bigger than Patrick’s. And the last word in opulence. Black marble features heavily. The bath is massive, nearly as big as their bed. “Goodness. How many horses could drink out of that at once, do you think? How long does that tub take to fill? What does your valet normally do, start the water running and go for a snack?”

Jonny puts the stopper in the bath, starts the water running to fill it, and takes Patrick’s hand to draw him closer. “I figured we could get in some kissing time while the bath fills.”

“And then what do we do in the water, apart from wash?”

“Kiss some more, obviously.”

“Let no one say you’re not capable of formulating a plan, Toews.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The rest of the day is spent lolling about.

Patrick comforts himself that with the weather being so bad, they wouldn’t have been able to attend the gallops today anyway. At some point, Patrick will need to catch up on the business of the estate, all the developments he’s missed out on while he and Jonny were estranged.

His own bloodstock business will need attention, too. He'll have to choose whether to close it, or keep it as a going concern and fold it into the estate's businesses. He rather favours the latter. For now, his stable manager and his staff will be more than capable of looking after the horses held in escrow in the stables behind the Kane townhouse.

All of it will still be there tomorrow, or the next day. 

Cuddling up on the sofa in front of a roaring fire with his husband is totally acceptable in the circumstances. Jonny needs to rest and recuperate. It’s not really idleness on Patrick’s part, it’s assisting Jonny’s recovery, selflessly.

Jonny has wedged himself comfortably between the back of the sofa and Patrick, and snoozes. His long fingers bracelet one of Patrick's wrists, keeping a solid grip even as he sleeps. Patrick did intend to read. Before long, no book appeals to him as much as watching the firelight trace patterns on Jonny’s sleeping face. If Patrick feels the need to sit there like a love-sick fool and simply soak up the sight of Jonny, and bask in his husband’s proximity, for this one day out of time, it’s nobody's business but his own.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When evening comes, they have dinner and shortly afterwards, they head up early to bed.

As soon as they are private in their bedroom, Patrick decides it’s time to get the last barrier out of the way. He doesn’t want to share a bed with Jonny again with any of his fears still unvoiced between them. He wants to be intimate with Jonny in more than just a physical way.

Patrick leans his head against Jonny's shoulder so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “Why did you send me away?”

“You must know it wasn’t because I wanted you to go," Jonny says. He puts his arms around Patrick. "I swore to myself that I wouldn't touch you until you asked me to."

“I did ask you to,” Patrick says, “on our wedding night.”

“I mean -- “ Jonny falters. “Until you asked me to touch you again and meant it. I'd been in love with you for so long, but you hardly knew me. I'd taken you away from everyone and everything you knew. I know it's no excuse that on our wedding night, I was drunk and desperate to touch you and seized my opportunity.”

Patrick knows that feeling, of being desperate to be closer. He knows it well. He takes Jonny's hand.

Jonny bends over their joined hands like he's praying. Maybe he is. Patrick feels tears fall on his skin.

Jonny straightens up and looks at Patrick. Jonny's eyes are wet. So are Patrick’s. “I was greedy and clumsy. I hurt you.”

Patrick lets out a breath. “You didn't deliberately cause me pain." He swallows. “I'm not going to lie, it wasn't perfect. It was overwhelming. But it was my first time. It probably would have hurt anyway, Jonny.”

Jonny shakes his head. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's all right.”

“Afterwards, I was sick about what I’d done. At least I’d not given into the temptation to bite your mating gland. At least you still had the option to leave if you wanted to and find someone else to bond with you. I promised you the next morning to not touch you, and I was trying with all my might to stick to my word and treat you right. With time, lots of time, I hoped you’d grow to feel some degree of affection for me. You cuddled up to me every night, so soft and warm and trusting.” He clears his throat. “Every night before bed, I’d go take a shower and take care of myself so I could hold you and have some hope of keeping my hands to myself.” Jonny’s face reddens.

Patrick’s mouth drops open. “You were -- ”

Jonny nods. His face gets redder.

“I realised you were showering every night before we went to bed. I thought you were just really dedicated to hygiene.”

Jonny snorts. "You never did touch me. You never did ask me to touch you. Do you remember that evening we attended the ball at Subban's, when you were slipped some kind of drug that triggered a sort of heat?"

"Yes, it'd be difficult to forget."

Jonny's eyes slide away from Patrick's. "You were out of your mind with it, so vulnerable. You'll never know how much it cost me not to take what you were being forced to offer by the drug. I felt so tempted, so despicable. The lowest of the low. Your heat was going to come up, and I knew I'd never be able to resist. I’d never let anyone hurt you if I can help it, Patrick, not even me. That’s why I asked you to leave.” Tenderly, Jonny strokes Patrick's cheek. “I hoped and prayed you’d come back to me.”

“I thought you wanted to get rid of me. It seemed that way.”

“There's nothing about that day I don't regret.”

Patrick’s laugh sounds slightly strangled. “That goes for us both. Thank God it's in the past.” He presses closer to Jonny. “Kiss me, please. If you want to.”

“If I want to? I always want to. Every night for years, I’ve been dreaming about kissing you.” Jonny's kiss is slow and soft and makes Patrick’s thoughts jumble like he's been drinking champagne.

Jonny draws his mouth away from Patrick's so he can kiss the tears off Patrick's face, then goes back to his mouth, kissing him hungrily. 

Patrick breaks away, ignoring Jonny's tiny cry of distress in favour of the greater good of drawing Jonny nearer to their bed.

Patrick kicks off his boots and socks, skins out of his shirt and pants, and slides down his underwear. He feels shy for one instant, until Jonny's eyes run greedily all over his naked skin, making him tingle without even touching him. Jonny tears at his own clothes and takes Patrick's mouth in an eager kiss while still working on pushing down his own pants.

Jonny's hands stroke over Patrick's arms, his chest, his back, touching him anywhere he can. Patrick tries his best to reciprocate. He doesn't really know what he's doing. Jonny doesn't seem to have any objections, though.

Jonny lifts him up onto the bed, placing him carefully on top of the covers.

Patrick welcomes Jonny's weight on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. The heat of Jonny's kisses, Jonny's body, makes Patrick feel like he's dissolving as easily as ice in sunlight. Jonny scatters kisses over Patrick's chin, his throat, his chest, worshipping every inch of Patrick's skin with the silky touch of his lips, and the too-brief velvet touch of the tip of his tongue. When he reaches below Patrick’s belly button, he drops a kiss on each of Patrick's hips where the bones jut up under the thin skin. His hot breath brushes deliberately over Patrick's cock as he goes from one to the other, making Patrick jolt.

Then Jonny's mouth is on Patrick's cock, hot and wet and _sucking_ him, and all Patrick feels is yearning, desperate pleasure.

Jonny pulls off just before Patrick comes, watching as Patrick gasps and tries desperately not to whine, not to beg.

“I don't want you to come until I'm in you,” Jonny murmurs.

Patrick whimpers.

Jonny moves up to kiss Patrick again, slow and savouring, before starting to slide his hands down Patrick's thighs.

Patrick grips Jonny's hip. "Wait. Don't I get to try that?"

"Try what, my love?"

"Sucking you." Patrick feels his face heat.

Jonny’s eyes darken. He inhales sharply and his hands on Patrick's thighs spasm. He meets Patrick's eyes. "I don't think that's a good idea. Not right now."

"Why not? Why not now?" Patrick knows he's pretty new to all this, true; he wants to learn what to do. He wants to learn Jonny's body. He wants to give Jonny pleasure too.

"If you’d like to try it sometime in the future, Patrick, I'd love that." Jonny exhales roughly through his nose. "That's... probably the understatement of the century." Jonny leans down and bites Patrick's nipple, riding out the way his body jerks under Jonny's. "Right now, though, I want us to both enjoy ourselves, and if you put that exquisite mouth of yours on me, I'm going to enjoy myself rather too much, too fast."

Jonny leans down and nibbles at Patrick's nipple again, makes it hard with teasing strokes of his tongue, then sucks on it.

Patrick slides his fingers into Jonny's hair and holds his head there.

Raising his head, Jonny says, "Am I sucking too hard?"

Patrick shakes his head.

"Want me to suck harder?"

Patrick, who's trying really hard not to push Jonny's head down, nods repeatedly. "Please," Patrick gasps.

Jonny fastens his mouth back on Patrick's nipple and sucks hard, until Patrick is squirming. He's pushing his chest up to Jonny's mouth so far that Patrick's arching off the bed. Jonny's teeth close on Patrick's nipple and he bites and sucks it even harder, as his hands move to the small of Patrick's back, supporting the curve of his spine.

He pulls off Patrick's nipple. Patrick collapses back to the mattress, glaring accusingly at Jonny.

Jonny's lips are swollen. He licks them. His dark eyes trace over Patrick's face and down to stare at the small sensitive nub he was just mauling. He licks his lips again, his eyes tracking across Patrick's chest to his other nipple.

Very slowly, Jonny leans down and kisses Patrick's nipple again. He brings one hand up, touching the nipple he hasn't paid any attention to yet, and Patrick moans. His cock throbs in time with the pace Jonny is setting, sucking one nipple and rubbing the other in a matching rhythm.

" _Please_ , Jonny."

Jonny kisses his way across Patrick's chest to Patrick's neglected nipple. He doesn't kiss it, doesn't suck it, doesn't bite it. He just breathes on it.

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and almost cries, almost comes.

"Fuck, Patrick," Jonny whispers. "You're so --" He ducks his head and his mouth is on Patrick, sucking hard on his nipple so Patrick's blood rushes up into it and makes the suction sweet agony.

Jonny's hand is still on his other nipple, pinching it a little. He might be trying to match Patrick's pulse but Patrick's heart is pounding so hard, nothing on earth could keep up. Jonny's free hand slides down until he curls his hand around Patrick's thigh and pulls up, encouraging Patrick to wrap it around him as he grinds forward. Jonny pulls his mouth away from Patrick, takes his hand away from Patrick's chest too, placing it on Patrick's other thigh so he can spread him completely open, so Jonny can shift his hips down and rub against Patrick perfectly. Patrick throws his head back, moaning, as Jonny grinds his big cock against him, making him crazy. Jonny's cock is wet at the tip, Patrick can feel it.

“Patrick, can I -- ?” Jonny gasps against Patrick's throat.

“For God's sake, Jonny,” Patrick manages to say, smacking his fist against Jonny’s shoulder, “what the hell are you waiting for? Get in me.”

Jonny makes a sound that's half sob, half laugh. He gets his hand on his cock and presses the thick tip against Patrick's entrance. It slips a little in the small amount of slick Patrick's body is producing.

Patrick's eyes pop open. “Wait! No.”

Jonny stops, draws back. “It’s all right if you’ve changed your mind -- ”

“I haven't. At _all_. Just -- one moment.” Patrick squirms out from under Jonny, rolls over in the bed and digs in the nightstand drawer for the one of the bottles Sidney gave him. He finds the bottle and shows it to Jonny. “Sidney makes this. It's to make it easier, outside heat.” He doesn’t know why his body doesn’t prepare to welcome Jonny’s body the way an omega’s is supposed to welcome an alpha’s. There must be something wrong with him. The spirit is very willing; the flesh is not as co-operative as it could be. Thank goodness for Sidney’s ingenuity.

Jonny's hands are trembling as he twists out the bottle's stopper. “Does it go on me or you?”

“Both, I think.” Patrick pours some of the thick liquid in the bottle onto his fingers. It's pleasantly cool on his overheated skin. He rubs it between his fingers. “Is it all right if I put it on you?”

“Be my guest, Patrick,” Jonny says breathlessly. “I’m all yours.”

Patrick spreads the salve over Jonny's big cock, the smooth broad domed head, the intriguing crinkly ridge underneath the head, and down the long thick shaft. Jonny’s flesh is hard as iron underneath the silky skin. Patrick circles his fingers around Jonny’s cock; they don’t come close to meeting. He’s already had this enormous thing inside him during his wedding night; he’s amazed his body could take it. Patrick licks his lips and gets more of the salve.

Jonny’s making guttural noises as Patrick rubs the salve over the thicker part at the base that’ll swell into a knot, if Jonny chooses to knot him. Though Patrick has been told being knotted can be painful for the omega in question, the thought of Jonny giving Patrick his knot makes Patrick squeeze his thighs together in the opposite of dread.

Suddenly, Jonny grips his wrist.

“I need you to stop, Patrick.” Jonny swallows, heaving for breath. “Stop right there. _Fuck_.”

“Are you all right, Jonny?" Patrick says.

Jonny gives him a burning look.

“I should put some on me too,” Patrick says quickly.

Jonny's fingers race Patrick’s to the bottle, and win. “Please allow me.” Jonny props himself up on one elbow, coats his fingers, and draws his wet fingertips around Patrick's rim. The sensation makes Patrick's toes curl and his lungs seize up. He tries to hide his face against Jonny's chest. Jonny nudges him until he meets Jonny's eyes again. Jonny chooses that moment to slide one finger inside Patrick, and drinks in Patrick's gasp.

Jonny very gently moves his finger, stroking Patrick inside. He kisses Patrick's jaw. “Does it feel good?” he whispers in Patrick's ear.

Patrick can only groan.

Jonny laughs, kissing Patrick's cheek. “Yes, I think it feels good for you. It feels fucking amazing to me.”

He adds more of the salve, and this time slides two fingers into Patrick.

Patrick whimpers. He can't focus on anything now, not even Jonny's face, only the intense sensations. Jonny moves his fingers in a rhythm that makes Patrick's hips start to rock in time with him. He crooks his fingers and Patrick nearly comes. Only biting down hard on his lip prevents it.

He doesn’t want to come until Jonny’s in him, either.

Jonny slides his fingers out, and puts his cock back exactly where Patrick wants it. Patrick wraps his arms around Jonny's neck, his legs around Jonny's hips, inhales to get Jonny's scent deep in his lungs.

“Patrick, look at me.” When their eyes lock, Jonny says, “I love you,” and pushes slowly into Patrick.

Patrick holds Jonny tighter, pushes his hips up, digs his heels into the plush muscle of Jonny's ass. He squeezes around Jonny experimentally. Jonny's cock feels huge inside him, but there's hardly any soreness, only sensitivity, only the ache for more. Through the rush of blood in his head, he hears Jonny say something.

“Patrick, Patrick. Can I move?” It sounds like it’s not the first time Jonny has said this.

“Yes, please, Jonny,” Patrick gasps.

Jonny sets his teeth to Patrick's throat and begins to move his hips.

The world outside their bed disappears. Patrick only feels Jonny, Jonny's big cock stroking him inside so gently, so deliciously. Jonny's hot mouth is against his throat, Jonny's ragged breathing in his ears, Jonny's scent deep in his lungs.

Patrick tries to hold back, to make it last. He can't.

He moans Jonny's name as he comes all over himself.

Jonny stops moving. He’s panting for air. He runs his fingers through the come on Patrick’s belly. “Should I stop?”

“No,” Patrick says. He breathes. “Keep going. I want you to feel you come in me.”

Jonny trembles above him and starts to move his hips again. Patrick hangs onto Jonny’s shoulders, moaning as Jonny moves on him and inside him.

When Jonny's starting to sound like it hurts him to breathe, he slides his wet hand down between them to stroke Patrick’s cock, making Patrick shiver with the intensity of the pleasure outside and inside.

Jonny bites his lip, his hips start to stutter. Jonny is shaking above him, spurting inside him. Jonny's jerking cock strokes sparks out of Patrick's insides.

Jonny is still spurting when Patrick clutches at him and comes again.

Jonny collapses on top of Patrick, quivering. Patrick remembers this from the last time, their first time, and smiles.

After catching his breath, Jonny pulls out as gently as he can. He rolls to one side so he's not crushing Patrick. He slurs out, “Holy fuuuck.”

Patrick giggles.

Jonny blinks several times. It takes him a few tries to make his mouth work properly. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I'm not hurt. Not at all.” Patrick throws his arms back over his head and stretches luxuriously, feeling his spine crackle. “I've never felt better.”

Jonny grins, smug. He moves down the bed so he can start to lick Patrick's come from his skin.

Patrick tries not to smile. “Yes, really, Jonny, that was... quite good.”

Jonny's eyes open wide. He turns an outraged face to Patrick.

Patrick pats Jonny’s chest. “Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get even better in time.”

Jonny snorts. He gets on top of Patrick and starts tickling him without mercy. 

“I said _even better_!” Patrick shrieks, writhing helplessly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When they've finished giggling, they nap for a while.

When Patrick wakes up again, Jonny's arms are around him, cuddling him close in his sleep, and Patrick feels so happy, he could burst from it.

Jonny wakes up by degrees, smiling at Patrick as soon as his eyelids flicker, before he's even fully conscious. “You're still here.”

“Stuck to you like a burr.”

“I like it,” Jonny says.

“You can’t get away from me now. We have a mutually beneficial... thingy.”

Patrick kisses Jonny's smiling mouth, at first softly. That doesn't last long. Soon Jonny rolls them over so Patrick is sprawled on his back. Jonny kisses him thoroughly while Jonny's fingers are on his hips, then his thighs. Jonny shifts until he's on top of Patrick again. His fingers slip down to spread Patrick’s legs, to stroke his big warm hands along the backs of Patrick's thighs.

It reminds Patrick of Deane, of how when Deane threw Patrick over the back of a sofa, he rubbed his grubby little paws over Patrick's ass and thighs from behind. He stifles a shudder. For one split-second, he wants to push Jonny's hands away.

Patrick doesn't want anything he and Jonny want to do to be closed off to them because of Deane.

He doesn’t even want to say Deane’s name in their bed.

“Jonny,” Patrick says. “Let me turn over.”

Jonny moves so Patrick can resituate himself. When Patrick is on his belly, Jonny lowers himself so his cock is resting against Patrick's ass. “You want to -- like this?”

“Yes,” Patrick says. "Like this."

Jonny thrusts gently against Patrick's ass, stroking his hand down the length of Patrick's thigh. Jonny's hot breath on the back of Patrick's neck makes his mating gland throb. 

Patrick closes his eyes and tries to sink into the feeling. He can't do it. He's tensing up. In his head, he knows it's Jonny behind him. Jonny's scent, his warm smooth skin, his gentle touch, but --

“Hold on a minute, Jonny.”

Jonny immediately moves to one side of Patrick, a worried look on his face. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no, it's not you. I just need to get something.” Patrick climbs down from the bed.

Patrick lifts a mirror off the wall. Judging from its ornate gilt frame, it’s probably an expensive antique. All Patrick cares about is that it’s a reflective surface. He props it against the headboard. He climbs back on the bed, down on all fours, and looks in the mirror to check he can still see Jonny's face when he has his back to him. This should work. “Put your arms around me, please.”

Jonny does as he says, hugging him from behind.

Patrick can see Jonny's face in the mirror without a problem. “Perfect.”

Jonny kisses Patrick's ear. “Everything all right?” His cock is hard and pulsing against Patrick's ass. He shifts his hips like he can’t keep still. “We can stop if you like.”

“I don't want to stop, Jonny. I want the mirror there so I can watch your face while you mount me.”

Jonny groans, dropping his forehead down on Patrick's shoulder. “Jesus, Patrick, you'll be the death of me. Where the fuck is that salve?”

Jonny applies more of the salve and then gently presses the head of his cock to Patrick's rim. Patrick presses back against Jonny and sighs as he feels the swollen tip enter him, as he feels Jonny’s body thrum with pleasure. When Patrick looks at Jonny's face in the mirror, Jonny looks like he’s having a religious experience.

Slowly, Jonny slides in deep. "Paradise," he moans.

He kisses Patrick’s shoulder. “Is this all right? Am I hurting you?”

”No, you feel good in me, even though your cock is so fucking massive,” Patrick says. His voice sounds husky to his own ears, probably from moaning out his pleasure in Jonny’s arms not long ago. “The salve, it helps... And I’m so wet inside from you coming in me before.”

Jonny puts his forehead down on Patrick’s shoulder, rolling it from side to side. “ _Christ._ I’m going to die.”

Patrick feels no pain, feels Jonny’s cock spreading him sweetly wider as he pushes in deeper and then holding still to let Patrick adjust to having Jonny like this again. Patrick pushes back against Jonny, wanting him to start moving. “Come _on_ , Jonny.”

Jonny slides out a little, then back in. He does it again, and again, cautiously, carefully. Together, they find a rhythm that makes Patrick’s heart skip a beat with each deep push.

Jonny adjusts Patrick's hips, making it feel even better, and pants in Patrick's ear. “Am I getting the angle right? Is this the best angle?”

Patrick does try to answer. Jonny's making him feel so good that for a moment, all he can do is moan. In the mirror, he sees his own mouth fall open. Jonny's parted lips are at Patrick's ear, his strong arms wrapped around Patrick's chest to hold him steady; their eyes meet.

”Yes, Jonny. It’s… yeah. Good.”

"Good, eh? Glad to hear it.” Jonny laughs softly. His deep voice rumbles in Patrick’s ear. “It's heaven being inside you." Jonny kisses his way to the gland on the back of Patrick's neck and kisses it softly. He sucks on it, licks it, kisses it hard, scrapes over it softly with just the very edges of his teeth. “Patrick, please, may I -- ?”

“Yes. Yes, please, Jonny. I want you to claim me,” Patrick says, gasping, dropping his head down so his mating gland is completely exposed and totally unprotected. "Bite me now."

Jonny bites down gently on Patrick's mating gland.

Jonny keeps his teeth in Patrick’s neck, while he keeps moving in him, keeps moving inside Patrick in measured, smooth, gentle thrusts until Patrick's trembling, until he barely has the strength to hold himself up. It’s starting to hurt. Patrick's too sensitive. He needs more of the salve. He wants to flinch away, he wants to cry out, he wants Jonny to never stop --

“Harder,” Patrick gasps.

Jonny obeys. The mirror starts to rattle against the headboard with the force of his thrusts.

“Jonny,” Patrick says. “Jonny. Please.” Patrick drinks in Jonny's growling gasps against his neck, the pain of Jonny's bite, while his knees start to slip on the bedsheets and his vision starts to blur. It's too much.

It's not enough. Patrick lifts one hand to cup it behind Jonny's head, pressing Jonny's mouth down harder into Patrick's skin. The pain of it drags a cry out of his throat. He presses even harder.

"Jonny, bite me the way you really want to. Give me your knot. Show me how much you want me," Patrick says, his breath coming in harsh gasps. "Don't hold anything back." His voice breaks. "You promised you wouldn't. You promised --"

Jonny growls savagely and bites down _hard_.

Patrick howls. His mating gland, caught fast between Jonny's sharp teeth, pulsates once with piercing agony; from that spot, where _his alpha_ is biting his mating gland, bliss like hot honey rolls down over every inch of Patrick’s skin. From one heartbeat to the next, he feels himself go liquid inside, feels the last traces of tension in his body unfurl.

Patrick hadn’t known. He hadn’t known that Jonny’s bite would be the key that unlocked Patrick’s body.

Jonny drags his teeth out of Patrick’s neck. In the mirror, Patrick watches Jonny’s eyes roll back in his head as the next thrust of his hips pushes his cock deeper into Patrick than he’s ever been before.

Jonny sobs Patrick’s name as he thrusts into him wildly, hard and fast, all restraint, all his last shreds of control stripped away by his omega’s willing submission to his bite.

Jonny’s cock rubs repeatedly over a spot inside Patrick that’s sending bright sparkling shocks to Patrick’s brain. Patrick bites his lip and clenches his hands, trying desperately not to come, trying to wait for Jonny. He can’t control it. Patrick comes, every pulse of his cock tearing choked sounds of pleasure out of his throat.

Patrick blinks hard, and looks up into the mirror in time to see Jonny flushed and open-mouthed with rapture as he feels Patrick come on his cock. Jonny slams into Patrick one last time, starting to come inside him.

Ecstasy looks good on Jonny.

Jonny clamps an arm around Patrick's hips, holding him to Jonny, as Jonny's knot swells inside Patrick. It makes him ache, forces his insides incredibly wide. Maybe before the bite, it would have been painful. Not now. He feels the hot, strong, inescapable pressure of his alpha’s knot in him as proof of being claimed, being _Jonny’s_.

Jonny’s grasping him so tight, Patrick couldn't get away even if he wanted to. Patrick's throat aches with his cries as Jonny grips him with brutal strength, spurts again and again inside his body. Jonny's whole body jerks with the power of it. He buries his face in Patrick’s curls.

The mirror falls off the bed and hits the floor. It shatters into a thousand glittering pieces.

Patrick knows how it feels.

Jonny collapses on top of Patrick and they sink down together into the bed. Patrick is shaking. They both are. Jonny holds him close, sighs, and after a moment, rolls them onto their sides.

Jonny’s pelvis is tight to Patrick’s ass. His knot is still huge inside Patrick's body. Patrick makes a throaty sound as he squirms back on it.

When Jonny can speak again, he says, “Jesus, Patrick, you'll hurt yourself. Please hold still.”

“Sure,” Patrick says. He pats Jonny's arm. “Good job. High quality work.”

He feels Jonny's smile against his skin. “You're not too sore?”

“Noooo. Not too sore. I like it, your knot in me.”

Jonny breathes out.

Patrick closes his eyes and lets Jonny’s arms, the scent of Jonny’s skin and the warmth of Jonny all around and inside him cradle him. This is the perfect way to be. He's so drowsy now. It would probably be rude of him to snooze while Jonny's knotting him. And he doesn't want to miss any of it.

Jonny is sprinkling kisses on Patrick's neck and shoulder, anywhere he can reach. His fingers trace delicate patterns on Patrick's hot skin.

Patrick sighs happily. He could get used to this.

“Sorry about the mirror,” Patrick mumbles.

“Fuck the mirror,” Jonny says, and Patrick starts to laugh.

Jonny swears and moans as the contractions of Patrick's laughter squeeze him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They are finally settling down to sleep, curved close like a couple of spoons, Jonny pulling the covers up over them both, when his hand glances off the bottle. He retrieves it from under the bedding and sticks the lid back on.

“Sidney's salve,” Patrick says, putting the bottle on the nightstand and giving the stopper a fond pat.

“Sidney.” Jonny growls the name. “Although that salve worked well, and I’m grateful to him for his good care of you, I'm not sure if I want to ever hear his name again.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

Jonny sighs. “I'm jealous, all right? He's a good-looking man. Worse than that, he’s a good person, probably a lot more stable and a lot more suited to you than I am. And an alpha too. When I heard you were in heat and you’d called him instead of me, I was -- It wasn’t the happiest day of my life.” Jonny presses closer. “I was distraught.”

Patrick pets Jonny’s arms comfortingly where they’re wrapped around Patrick’s chest.

“I know now that there’s nothing going on between you and Sidney. I know we’re bonded now, and you're willing to stay married to me." Jonny kisses the sensitive spot of Patrick’s mating gland. It throbs contentedly under his lips. "I know you and he are friends, I respect that, just friends, and yet -- ” He sighs again. “I'm well aware I'm weird and obsessive. Let's not talk about my many faults right now.”

“Well, now that you’ve brought up the subject of Sidney,“ Patrick says, ignoring Jonny's despairing groan, “now that you mention it, Sidney _is_ a very good-looking man with many fine qualities. Highly intelligent, witty, caring, driven. Dark, handsome, muscular, strong, with a perfectly sculpted body, not to mention, in possession of a great ass -- While unquestionably I consider you to be a superior specimen in every way, I do like those things in my alphas.”

“Your alphas? _Plural?_ ” Jonny splutters.

“You and he do have many evident similarities, although I don't know at this point if Sid's cock, or indeed if any alpha's cock, could measure up to yours..." Patrick has to stop speaking to bite his lip and prevent his giggles escaping.

"You don't know _at this point?_ Have you plans to find out?" Jonny says, thoroughly scandalised. "Because I oppose such plans with the greatest firmness."

Patrick heroically resists commenting on Jonny's inadvertent pun and barrels merrily on. "...I suppose, objectively, Sidney is a very attractive alpha.” Patrick pauses purely for effect. “Why would I care about that though, when I'm madly in love with my gorgeous husband?”

Jonny's arms tighten involuntarily around Patrick. He curls around him, kissing Patrick's cheek, the side of his neck, the thin skin of his throat. “You love me?” There’s naked hope in his voice.

Has Patrick really not told Jonny he loves him yet?

Well, he’s had a lot on his mind.

Patrick turns in the circle of Jonny's arms, to look Jonny in the eye. He cups Jonny's beloved face with his left hand, the one that bears his wedding and his engagement rings. It seems so fitting now that their wedding ring came first, and the sapphire ring afterwards. He puts his free hand on Jonny's chest over his thundering heart.

Patrick kisses Jonny reverently. “You’re my alpha. My husband. My only love.”

He kisses Jonny again, and Jonny kisses him back.

When they finally have to break apart to breathe, Patrick is blinking away happy tears. Jonny’s eyes, intent on his, are not much better off.

“Jonny, believe me. _My heart is yours._ ”

THE END


End file.
